Half Life
by er0sennin
Summary: Dolly Murdoch is many things: a doctor, a scientist, a sometimes-only-when-necessary gun smith... a mediator? Not so much. F!Lw x Butch DeLoria. Mild Lw x Harkness. Post main quest.
1. Trouble On The Homefront

**I do not own Fallout 3 or any of its characters, unfortunately. This first chapter will be short, but they will get longer as the story progresses. Rated M for sexual themes and drug use. It is my first fic, so please be gentle. Enjoy! :)**

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Dust kicked up beneath Dolly's feet as she trudged along the dirt road. It had been almost a week since she had left the comfort of her makeshift home in Megaton. Her supplies were dwindling and, after making the mistake of taking on a Supermutant Brute, a few of her weapons lay in pieces within her pack. During the scuffle, she happened to take a few heavy blows to the stomach from a rebar club. At first she thought nothing of it, her armor usually did a good job of absorbing the impact.

But after a few days of traveling, she slowly began to realize she had a few broken ribs. If she didn't get some stimpaks in her system soon, the chances of her ribs healing improperly would rise. The impending lecture from Doc Church almost made her want to turn around head to Rivet City. Every time she came back injured or poisoned, he would shake his head and call her the "worst doctor in the wastes." A title which she relented to, seeing as she couldn't guarantee she wouldn't take risks while out and about. She was her father's daughter, after all. She sighed, patting the pocket of her coat to make sure the schematics she lifted off a dead scientist were still there. At least she bore _some_ fruits from her labor.

She pulled up her Pip-Boy, opening her map so she could see how far she was from town. She let out another sigh, three miles- that's not too bad, she can make that. She idly switched over to the radio, maybe some GNR could speed up the rest of the journey. Three Dog always had a way of making life out here seem a bit brighter and the music he played wasn't bad, either. She just wished there was more variety to what he played. As much as she loved classical music, it would be nice to hear other musicians from the era. Maybe some Elvis. She read about him while traipsing through a library. The book was barely charred and most of the pages were still in it.

From there she learned about how he was the "King," as the people of that time referred to him. There were rumors that some records (whatever those were) of his still existed, but she hadn't gotten the chance to get her grimy hands on them. Maybe once she did, she'd bring them to Three Dog. She smiled at the thought. Just as she was about to tune into the station, her Pip-Boy picked up a new transmission. There, in little green pixels, was a radio frequency she never thought she would see again. As soon as she switched over to the new channel, an emotionless, automated message proclaimed it was Vault 101's emergency signal. Instantly her stomach dropped, and she came to a halt, patiently waiting for the message to continue. Amata's voice rang out from the speakers, the desperation in her voice sent a chill down Dolly's spine.

"_It feels like you left home a long time ago, but I know you're still out there. I just hope you're still alive to hear this. Things got worse after you left... the new Overseer is insane! If you can hear this, please stop looking for your dad and help save us. I changed to door password to my name. If you're hearing this, and you still care enough to help... you should remember it_."

Dolly stood quietly, her brows furrowed in confusion. After all that had happened, after what she did to her... Amata still chose her to come save the day. She looked up from the screen, squinting against the harsh sunlight. There in the distance, amidst a barren landscape, towered Megaton... her home. Her _new_ home. She didn't belong down in the Vault anymore. Her and her father made sure to burn that bridge to the ground after they crossed it. She was happy to leave and never look back but now... now things are different. This wasn't just anyone, this was _Amata_. Her partner in crime for nineteen years, her confidant, and only friend. Maybe she did owe her one. After all, Amata did warn her after her dad escaped and the Overseer was out for blood. Even after Dolly put a gun to the Overseer's head and pulled the trigger, Amata still lead her to the exit. And although she swore she never wanted to see her again, there she was on the radio, calling out to her old friend to come save her. Just like old times.

With a new sense of determination, she pulled up her map again and set a new marker. She turned her head towards the jagged skyline. Buried in the rocky terrain was a passage into a lifetime long forgotten. That was a different life and a different Dolly. Was she really ready to go back? Could she even help Amata? Her feet began to carry her towards the mountains. Dolly wasn't sure if she would be able to rescue Amata this time, but she could fucking try.


	2. Way Back Home

**Just a fair warning, my character is very vulgar (as am I). So if you are easily offended or turned off by that kind of language, I wouldn't suggest reading any further. **

**This chapter has in-game dialogue, but I've added a bit of changes here and there. This chapter also contains spoilers for the side quest Trouble On the Homefront. Enjoy! **

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**Chapter Two:**  
"Way Back Home"

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She stood before the rickety wooden door that led to the vault. Her heart thumped violently against her ribcage, anxiety refusing to let her take another step. Out of habit she began to chew at her fingernails, silently weighing her options. She could still turn around, she didn't have to go back. No one was forcing her to do this. She swallowed a lump of fear. This was ridiculous. She's charged into buildings full of Supermutants with nothing but one box of ammo and a varmint rifle on her back. She's faced her own mortality at the barrel of a gun while raiders beat her and stole her only worldly possessions. She's been through situations that would put any seasoned doctor to shame but, out of all things, this scares her most.

She raised a trembling hand and gave the door a good pull. With a few cracks it swung open, and she stepped into the damp, darkened tunnel. The shade was a nice break from the sweltering wasteland sun, and she took a moment to relish it. She pulled down her mask to better breathe in the cool air. After a moment, her gaze settled on the giant metal hatch of Vault 101. She took a few slow steps towards the door. She felt dwarfed next to the towering metal entrance with it's big, white block lettering. It loomed over her petite frame and for a brief second, she thought fleeing was the smarter option. She shook her head to banish the thought. After she left the vault, she thought she grew to be more courageous. A courageous person wouldn't turn away from this situation. She eyed the control panel near the corner, it's orange and green flashing lights beckoning her to come closer. She took a deep breath to steady her heart rate and entered Amata's name into the computer. A loud hiss rang through the small tunnel, followed by the ear-splitting sound of steel grinding against steel. She flinched and covered her ears, watching the hatch dislodge and retract backwards into the entrance.

Yikes, that was loud. Vault security had to have heard that. She threw one last glance over her shoulder, eyeing the exit. _No going back now_, she thought wistfully. She clambered through the entrance and into the main foyer. She instantly noticed that something was off. There were two wooden barricades planted in front of the door to the rest of the vault. Papers and other miscellaneous items were strewn about the floor, and she carefully tried to avoid stepping on them. A few rad roaches hissed and clicked in the room adjacent from her, but paid them no mind. A foul odor wafted up to her and she took a step back, putting her sleeve over her mouth and nose. She knew that smell.

She arched her neck to look over the railing. A body lay crumpled against the secondary control panel, a pool of dried blood beneath him. She couldn't tell who he was and stared at his messy chestnut hair before tilting his face to hers. She frowned; it was Jim Wilkins. Judging by the lividity and decay, she could tell he had been there for quite some time. He was just a kid, a few years younger than her. It felt wrong to leave him here, and she made a mental note to give him proper burial when the time came for her to leave. She approached the door and turned the hatch, only to be surprised that it wasn't locked. The door opened and she slipped into the hall and felt a presence to her left. A vault security guard rushed towards her and she drew her gun, only to see him mirror her action. She met his gaze briefly before checking around the room to make sure that they were alone.

"Stop right there! I don't know how you got in here, but... hold on," he paused, "Wait a minute! It's you! I hardly recognized you with all the dust and grime from out there. I guess that explains how you got the door open," he holstered his gun. "After all, you do have more experience with it than anyone else down here."

"The wasteland sun must've gotten to my head, because I'm afraid I don't remember you," she said, keeping her gun aimed towards his head. She knew that voice, but she couldn't tell who he was behind that thick security helmet.

The officer removed his visor, flipping it back. He gave her a daft, friendly smile, "Officer Gomez, at your service."

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence ticked by before Dolly holstered her gun, "Officer Gomez, I'm sorry. I know this is rather sudden, but I need to talk to Amata."

"About what?"

"I was traveling nearby when I received an odd transmission," she started, pulling up her Pip-boy to show him. "She sent out an emergency message asking for me, specifically, to come to her aid."

"Amata sent a message?" he asked, his lips pursing together, "You better keep that information under your hat... at least for her sake. She could get in real trouble if people found out she sent you a message. So could I, just for talking with you now."

"Er... I mean, I just had a hunch she was in trouble," she shrugged dramatically, looking around to be doubly sure no one heard her talking about Amata. She made a signal of zipping her mouth closed and he just nodded in agreement. Secret is safe between the two of them.

"It seems like it's been a mighty long time, so, let me get you up to speed," he said, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "This place is not at all like it used to be."

"As much as I'd love to sit and chat," Dolly started, "I really think I should-"

"If you-know-who sent you that transmission for the reason I think they did, then you need to hear this, so you can better understand what happened," he interrupted. "The night you and your dad left, everything went downhill fast. Between the bugs and the confusion, we lost a lot of people. When your dad opened the door, he let loose a whole lot of shit, if you'll pardon my language."

Dolly looked down to her feet, trying not to imagine the horror she and her dad left in their wake. That was never what they wanted. She lived alongside those people for most of her life, and the last thing she wanted was to bring them any kind of harm... well, except the Overseer. Fuck that guy.

"Dad would be horrified to know all that... if he were still alive." Her voice cracked a bit and she swallowed the lump of grief that was lodged in her throat. He had been gone for a year now, but she still felt the pain as if he had died yesterday.

"I'm... I'm sorry to hear that," he frowned deeply, putting a comforting hand to her shoulder. "Regardless of how things turned out down here, he was a good friend. I always figured he'd do well out there..." he trailed off. His hand fell back to his side, "Matter of fact, plenty of people down here started thinking he had the right idea. He usually did. So if it was safe outside, why stay down here forever? The Overseer, the new Overseer that is, didn't like that one bit. So he started cracking down on that sort of thought. Guess he didn't plan on you coming back."

She smiled sadly, "So, what now?"

"Well, I ought to put you under arrest and take you to the Overseer," he quirked a smile, pulling his visor back down, "but, frankly, I know better than to try that. Meanwhile, some of your old friends think opening the vault would be a good idea. I'm sure those rebels would like to have a word with you. Of course, if you want, you can just walk away as if you were never here," he waved his hand dismissively, "out of respect for your dad, I'd tell no one of this conversation or that I ever saw you."

She shook her head, "You know I can't just turn back around and go back to my daily life, not after learning about how everything is down here. I have to try and help put things back to the way they used to be, I owe you guys that much. Can you lead me somewhere?"

"I guess you've had a lot on your mind since you were here last," he nodded, "where did you want to go?"

Dolly inched closer to him and lowered her voice, "Lead me to Amata, I need to see her."

Officer Gomez let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. He turned around, "Alright kid, follow me."

* * *

Dolly stayed close behind Officer Gomez with one hand on her gun. She knew there would be people who would be less than pleased at her return. Having Gomez was a nice barrier, but she knew from experience how people get when they're enraged. He led her down a flight stairs until they hit a large, barren room. The window to the Overseer's room was straight ahead, and the sign that hung above it had been defaced. Whereas the sign used to say, "Hard Work Is Happy Work," it now said "Work is Work." _It was probably Butch,_ she laughed to herself. She crossed the doorway and noticed a few more barricades and behind them, a surly old man whose name she could not recall. Maybe the sun really had fried her brain a bit. He began to yell about her needing to leave and, between Officer Gomez's commands to get out of their way, she heard the old man say something about his deceased wife. His severely wrinkled face contorted into a look of hatred- if looks could kill, she and Gomez would be soupy puddles on the cold metal floor. After they passed by him, she made sure to keep glancing behind her to make sure that old piece of leather wasn't waiting for her with a knife.

"What was that all about?" she queried, glancing behind herself out of paranoia. "I haven't seen a face so full of loathing since I disabled the bomb in Megaton, and the Children of Atom almost lynched me."

"The Children of wha-?" he looked back curiously, "Never mind. That man lost his wife amidst all the confusion. He blames you and your father for what happened. Imagine how mad you'd be if you were in his position."

Food for thought. She stayed quiet for a long while, until they reached the lower apartments. Officer Gomez let her walk in front of him for a bit, until she heard him come to a complete stop. She turned around, "Why'd you stop?"

"I can't take you any further than this," he said dolefully. "Take a left and head up the stairs. The rebels are walled off in your dad's old clinic. I'm sure you remember how to get there."

Before she could even mutter a thank you, her escort disappeared. She turned back around and started walking through the halls. The last time she saw these apartments, the rooms were flashing from the alarm systems and infested with radroaches. It was a weird feeling being back. For the majority of her life, she never felt like she fit in here. Like a square peg trying to force itself into a round hole. All she had to fall back on was her dad, who encouraged her every day to be herself and forget the rest of them. She did well in Mr. Brotch's class and always did her homework. She never caused trouble and was pleasant to everyone... yet she felt like an alien. Like the people of Vault 101 knew something about her that she didn't.

She supposed they were right not to trust her, seeing as how everything turned out. She could laugh at how horribly everything had crumbled and fallen apart, like she was some badly scripted movie character with comically bad luck. If they had just stayed in the vault, maybe all these people would still be alive. Her dad would still be alive. She shook her head to banish the thought. As she rounded the corner, movement at the top of the stair case caught her attention. Without a second thought she drew her gun. The person had their back to her, and was whittling away at something. A flash of blue and black caught her eye, as well as a poorly painted snake. If that wasn't enough to assure her who it was, the overwhelming stench of pomade overcame her senses.

Butch drew his trusty old knife when he felt someone approaching and spun around. His expression went one from irritation to surprise, as he pocketed his knife and threw his arms up in welcome. "Damn! Look who came waltzing back into the vault!" After she refused to holster her gun, Butch frowned and crossed his arms with a huff. "Aw hell, Doll, you haven't seen me for two years and this is how you greet ol' Butchie?"

She lowered her gun and laughed, "Butch, you smarmy bastard. Do they know you're out here? Because you are the _last_ person I would pick to guard anything."

"Psh, whatever Doll, it takes a lot of balls to come back here after what you did," he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Yeah, yeah," she rolled her eyes.

Dolly holstered her gun and met him at the top of the stairs. It was good to see that he hadn't changed, although she was sure he could use some sense and manners beaten into him. He cocked an eyebrow at her, his lips forming into an unattractive scowl. She realized that he had replaced the Tunnel Snakes jacket that he had given her. It was a dark, almost black, brown and had a few studs here and there. The emblem of his mighty vault gang had been hurriedly scrawled across the back. It didn't look like the one she currently had in her bag, which had been polished and had the gang emblem hand stitched into the leather. His hair, which was usually perfectly quaffed and appropriately gelled, was currently in disarray, with a few pieces jutting out and tickling his forehead.

After her sixteenth birthday, she and Butch had agreed on a stalemate. He wouldn't harass her anymore, but only if she'd give him answers to every upcoming test in Mr. Brotch's class. She let him cheat off of her every test day from then on, and in doing so, they developed a good rapport with one another. He had even stuck up for her a few times if Wally or Paul went out of their way to torment her. She hated to say it, but she kind of missed the guy, in a fucked up, Stockholm syndrome kind of way.

She reached out and punched his arm softly, "And why should I help you anymore, Butch?"

Butch huffed and crossed his arms, "You must've heard about the changes since you left, right? Ya know, the whole death, lies, and the new Overseer going batshit crazy and putting everyone on lock down?" he waved dramatically, "Ring any bells?"

"Yeah, Officer Gomez filled me in before leading me up here," she said, feeling a bit of guilt tug at her heart, "I never meant for any of that to happen, Butch."

"But it did," he shrugged. "The only reason they haven't rushed in here already is accountin' on the fact that I stole one of their guns when they issued martial law."

"Big and mighty Butch fighting for the little guys," she sniggered, "I'm surprised you're not the ring leader of this entire rebellion."

"I might as well be," he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He stared at the floor for a few moments before giving her a slow, measuring look. "You've gotta help get us out of here, Doll... you gotta help _me_ get out of here. We can't live like this, and no one can talk any sense into that new Overseer."

"That's why I'm here," she said with false confidence, "I can at least try to make things right."

"Ain't nothing you do can make this place right again, Doll," he shook his head. "Too much shit has gone down. We've lost too many people..." he trailed off. Dolly shifted uncomfortably and let out a sigh. As much as she was loving this reunion, she was better off with just speaking to Amata. She turned and was halfway down the corridor before she heard him call out to her. She snapped back around and folded her arms across her chest impatiently.

"Hey Doll," he said, a smile slowly tugging at his lips, "I'm glad you're back."

Despite herself, she felt a grin spread across her face. Butch had always been a little shit, dripping with vitriol for anyone who wasn't part of his precious high school gang. But there were moments where she saw the good side to him. He may be as dumb as a box of rocks, but he was true to his word and stuck up for what he felt was right. It was easy to forget the years of bullying and, yes, even that one time he gave her a bloody nose because she refused to share her sweet roll with him. They ended on a good note after she saved his mom from radroaches two years ago. And she would never tell him how comforting and warm his jacket had been to her during those first few weeks out on her own.

She continued down the corridor and rounded the corner, spotting the entrance to the clinic. All along the halls were makeshift barricades; desks flipped over and lockers stacked atop another. They were really trying to keep people out. The soft thrum of chatter drifted through the halls. Dolly approached slowly, keeping her footsteps light and cautious. As she got closer to the doorway, the chattering quieted down. She popped her head around the door frame to announce herself and, hopefully, avoid being shot at. Before she could even enter the clinic, Amata came running towards her.

"I can't believe you came," Amata welcomed her, gesturing for her to enter. She moved in clumsily, as if getting ready to hug her, but then stopped abruptly. In turn, they exchanged a very awkward handshake. This was not going to go well.

"I came as soon as I heard you were in trouble," Dolly reassured her, releasing her friend's hand. The other patrons in the room filed out quickly, eyeing her suspiciously as they passed by. Most of them she knew from school, others from small gatherings the Overseer would host.

"Come, we have a lot to talk about," she said formally. Dolly could feel her stomach drop a bit, as she quickly realized that this was not the person she once knew. If so much had changed, that she was ready to regard Dolly in such a formal, distant fashion... maybe that burned bridge was irreparable.

Amata ushered her to have a seat at one of the tables against the back wall. She looked around what was once her dad's perfectly tidy and organized little clinic. Now, it laid in shambles. Bed rolls covered the floors, as did papers and a few medical supplies. Only a few of the lights seemed to be functioning, leaving the room dimly lit. It only added to the depressing realization of what was happening to these people. The only thing left standing was a desk with her dad's old computer. Maybe she'd have a look through that, see if her dad was harboring any additional secrets before he decided to take off.

Amata sat across from her, her hands clasped together on the table's surface. Her face was grimy and covered in flecks of something she couldn't distinguish- blood, perhaps? Amata kept her eyes locked on her hands, refusing to make eye contact with Dolly. Her face was tense, her brows creased in thought as she nervously bounced her leg. Dolly could feel the air between them become tense. She repositioned herself awkwardly in her seat, waiting for her friend to speak.

"I'm sorry Dolly it's just... it's really hard to be around you," Amata exhaled shakily. "You murdered my father. You put a gun to his head and blew his brains all over his office. I could have... I could have reasoned with him, if you had just given me some time but... but you ruined it. You ruined everything."

Dolly couldn't help the wave of anger that came over her. She had been waiting two years to explain what happened, to let Amata know that she only did that out of love and a sense of kinsmanship. If only she knew how the Overseer's face haunted her dreams; the look of fear and betrayal as she placed the barrel against his temple. How his blood spattered against the metallic floor, and the hollow thud as his body crumbled into an indiscernible heap. What haunted her most, though, was how she didn't regret it.

She swallowed hard, "He threatened to hurt you if I didn't tell him where my dad had gone. He thought he could get me to talk by threatening the one friend I had, his own daughter. He was messed up, Amata. He was a control freak who let his paranoia dictate your life," she slammed her palms on the table. Amata flinched, locking eyes with her. "I couldn't let him hurt you. I couldn't let him kill any more innocent people, like Jonas. He was out for blood and it never would have ended, so I did what I thought was best. And if I had to, I'd do it again."

Her chest heaved with rage at her outburst, her pulse pounding in her ears. She could feel the blood rushing to her face and, at that moment, she had never seen Amata cower before her like she was. When Dolly had escaped, she didn't have enough time to explain what had happened- why she had done what she did. She would have killed anyone to protect her best friend, and she meant it when she said she'd do it again. But the fact of the matter is Amata sent for help and asked for _her_, not anyone else. And even after killing her father and leaving the vault in chaos, Amata was still relying on Dolly for help. Dolly took a deep breath, trying to smooth down her raised hackles. She was inherently hot-headed, and was never one to control her anger. It helped when she was out on her own with her defenses up, but it didn't help in situations like these where she was easily riled.

"Regardless of how everything went down," Amata started, dragging Dolly from her mental reverie, "I called for you because you're the only person I could open the vault to and it was a huge risk on my part. But I've put myself out there for you before and this is no different."

Dolly steadied herself, leveling her emotions. "You saved my life, Amata. I may have inconsequentially ruined yours, but the least I can do is help out now."

Amata's honey colored eyes glistened, her resolve starting to melt away. "I just wish... I just wish we could have saved more people. So many died that night..." she cracked, a few tears slid down her cheeks. "It was bad enough they died because my father was trying to keep the doors closed, but I found out it was all to protect a lie."

"What are you talking about? What lie?" she queried, her interest peaking.

"The vault wasn't always closed, Dolly," she said baldly, dabbing her cheeks with the crook of her finger, "They've lied to us about it our entire lives."

Dolly's jaw dropped, "What? How did you find out about that?"

"After that night, I heard Wally's father say we should never have taken you or your dad into the vault. I found out that they used to keep the vault open but, for some reason, closed it when we were all too young to remember. They all swore to pretend that it never had happened. And even though we all know the truth, that damn Overseer won't let us make our own decisions."

"What is it about being Overseer that drives people into psychosis?" She hissed.

"I wish I knew," she visibly wilted, "It's not like we want to abandon the vault completely. Most of us had just accepted the outside world as certain death, and that everything would stay the same down here. But, now we know they don't have to be. After all, it was enough to get you and your dad to leave, so there must be something good out there."

Dolly's emerald eyes drifted to the table, "I can't lie to you Amata, there's not much good to be found out there. Aside from supplies and introducing more people to the vault," she ran her fingers through her tawny hair, "it's a hell hole. It's hot, it's dry, and drug use is rampant. The towns are crowded, boarded up messes. The people are mistrusting and brash. All of the food is either made of bugs or mutated animals. I just... I don't want you to think that beyond that metal hatch, there is some paradise awaiting you."

Amata met her gaze coldly, "I am very aware that things may not turn out as I expect, but it _has_ to be better than this. It's either live safely and die out, or risk it, open the hatch, and ultimately better the lives of those who reside here. I'm willing to take that risk."

Dolly brought her fingers up to her mouth to gnaw on her cuticles. She wasn't sure if she could do this. It was a miracle she had made it this far alive. Thanks to her upbringing under science and medicine, she had no problem healing illnesses, finding plants for poultices, and hacking her way into computer systems. But, the wastelands were harsh and cruel. She had to learn to murder and scavenge; how to survive off of minimal rations and hold down the irradiated water without puking. She had to learn when to sleep and when to keep moving. The day she left the vault, she had to learn how to handle guns. And by "learn," she meant being thrown right in with no prior knowledge. The first time her gun jammed, she had to throw it to the ground and book it. Now she not only knew how to maintain her guns, but how to build them, too. Maybe mediating this debacle was just another thing she had to be thrown into. When it came to charisma and learning how to charm people, she fell flat. But seeing as the new Overseer had a screw or two loose, maybe she wouldn't have to charm him. You can't rationalize with crazy. She had a growing suspicion that this wouldn't end peacefully. If he was anything like the old Overseer, he'll want to go out with a bang.

"Amata," Dolly whispered, her voice soft but commanding, "I can't guarantee this won't end in bloodshed."

The woman in front of her blanched and shook her head, "Dolly, you can't. I won't have anymore blood spilled over this.."

"If he's as insane as everyone is saying, it's might be impossible to reason with him."

"If you don't think you can do it," Amata suggested calmly, "then maybe I'll head up there myself."

"You can't, I just... ugh," she paused, "I'll try my best to talk things out with him, Amata. I just need a bit to rest. I've been traveling for about a week now, and a few days on these broken ribs. I'll need to acquire some medical supplies. Who's the doctor now?"

"Well, seeing as our main doctor ran away and his assistant was killed," Amata stated curtly, "we've been relying on that old Mr. Handy for most of our medical needs."

Dolly felt the blood drain from her face, "You WHAT?" she screeched. "He couldn't even cut my birthday cake without shredding it into a pile of mush!"

"Well, we didn't have many options," she shrugged. "What do you need to fix those ribs?"

"Some stimpaks would be great. These ribs might not heal the right way after all the shit I've put them through while traveling, but as long as they heal and I'm no longer in pain, I'll be okay."

Amata disappeared into the back office and reappeared with a bag of medical supplies. She tossed them at her friend, "Here you go. A few stimpaks, some med-x, and a couple of bandages."

"Thank you," she let out a sigh of relief.

"There's a room down the hall to the right that's been abandoned. Feel free to set up shop in there for a bit," Amata gestured to the heavy pack on Dolly's back. "I know you'll probably want to sleep, too. The sooner we get this Overseer issue out of the way the better. But in the meantime, the dining room is still active. We have some boxes of BlamCo and Cram, but not much. Rations are pretty short these days."

"I understand," Dolly eyed the bag of supplies in her grip, "I have some work to do, but I promise I'll meet up with you in a bit."

She said her goodbye to Amata and went to locate her room for the night. It wasn't far from the clinic, which gave her some comfort. She didn't know how large their safe zone was, but being close to the clinic assured her that she wouldn't be having any additional conflict with security. The door took a bit to pry open, but she was proud to say she only broke two bobby pins. As the door opened, the stench of stale air and dust invaded her senses. She grunted in displeasure and placed a hand over her mouth, entering the dark room with reluctance. Her free hand fumbled against the wall for a light switch, and she let out a soft "a-ha!" as she flicked on the lights. The room was quaint, one of the smaller models made for single living. The walls were decorated with artwork from many centuries before- presumably there from before the bombs fell. Two dingy green couches lined the walls accompanied by a small oak coffee table. Upon the table was a cup of... something, and a book lying sadly next to it. Whoever lived here had left in a hurry and never came back.

She quickly found the bedroom and deposited her bags onto the floor next to the bed. She eyed the mattress enviously before flopping backwards onto the giant quilted gift from heaven. The soft material cupped her tired, damaged body. It was the little things in life that she cherished... and this was definitely one of them. It had been two years since she had slept in a decent bed. Two years since she slept in something that wasn't soaked in questionable bodily fluids and blood stains. She had become accustomed to sleeping on grungy mattresses in warehouses and down in the tunnel systems, snuggling her gun just in case.

The bed she had at her Megaton domicile was an upgrade, but not by much. Her body adapted to the knots and back aches, and she rarely noticed them anymore. Maybe a night of rest here would help mend her devastated muscles. She sat up and reached for the medical supplies. Her body protested she lifted her shirt to reveal the large black and yellow bruise that covered the expanse of her ribcage. She cursed under her breath as she withdrew a stimpak. Gently, she pushed the needle underneath the skin right above the injury. A flash of blood appeared in the syringe as she injected the stimpak, squirming uncomfortably as the cooling liquid reached her broken ribs. As much of a miracle the stimpaks were, it didn't make injecting herself any easier. She tossed the used syringe into the trash bin next to the nightstand.

She made her way to the tiny bathroom. To her surprise, the water was still working, so she turned on the shower to the hottest possible setting. She stood under the stream and let the hot water run down her back, inhaling the warm cloud of steam that surrounded her. Absolute bliss. Showers were rare occurrences in the wastes. Since the water supply for the city had been contaminated by radiation, taking a shower had to be brief and was less than enjoyable. She shut the water off and climbed out, using an old cloth to dry her disheveled auburn hair. She climbed into her usual pajamas, consisting of a pair of shorts and a tank top, and proceeded to the living room. She pulled her broken gun out of her pack to inspect the damage, placing fragments of it on the carpet with a small shake of her head. It had been completely idiotic to try and reload her magazine with a Supermutant so close to her. If she hadn't stalled and pointed her weapon right as the rebar club came smashing down, maybe she would still have her beloved Xuanlong Assault Rifle. It was possible that should could mend her weapon if she could salvage parts from other assault rifles. Even then she would need a welding-

_Knock Knock._

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts and she jumped, "Who is it?"

_"It's Butch."_

She froze.

* * *

**A/N: So I'm a bit unhappy with how this turned out, but I've revised it multiple times and this was as good as I could get it. Sorry if seems choppy in certain places. I go into too much detail at times, and I'm trying to cut it down so that those of you who are reading this don't get overloaded or lose interest! R&R! Thanks guys!**

**P.S. If anyone has any suggestions as to how to improve my writing, either comment below or PM! It would be very helpful :)**


	3. Anything Goes

**Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews. I want to thank Lemo for pointing out that I wrote varmint rifle instead of hunting rifle in Chapter One. I totally didn't even catch that. Also, to anonymous, there's a little bit of smut in this chapter (and some fluff, I guess you could call it).**

**Now, I changed Butch's personality a bit. I know, before you all grab the pitchforks- hear me out. I am going off the premise that he had matured some since LW left the vault. He's still his brash, rude, and rambunctious self. But with time and trauma comes growth, and I'd like to think that Butch isn't above some maturity. Enjoy the chapter! :)**

* * *

**Chapter Three:**  
"Anything Goes"

* * *

"It's Butch."

She froze.

"_Hellooo_? Can I come in? I got somethin' for ya," he said, his voice muffled.

She slowly rose from her crossed legged position on the floor and moved towards the window next to the door. She pulled up one of the blinds and peeked out, seeing Butch standing impatiently with boxes of something in either hand. What could he want to give her? With a bit of trepidation and a hint of nervousness, she pushed the button to allow the door to open. As those two gray walls of metal slid out of her line of sight, Butch's smiling face came into view. He held up, rather proudly, two boxes of BlamCo Mac n' Cheese and a six pack of Nuka-Cola. He gave a quick flash of his teeth as he grinned, before he squeezed by her into the small apartment.

"Surprise!" he said happily, making a b-line for the kitchen.

Once he was in there, she heard him opening cupboards and banging things around. Every now and then he'd mutter an expletive and the faucet would come on. It took her a few moments before she felt comfortable enough to get closer to his location. She peered around the corner of the doorway, staring at a wild looking Butch scrambling for various items. Her eyes squinted a fraction and she folded an arm across her stomach, stroking her chin inquisitively with the other. After a few moments, Butch settled down against the counter, staring at his pot of water on the stove with a satisfied smirk. Dolly stood quietly in the doorway, not quite sure if this was some figment of her sun-baked brain or if she had fallen asleep while trying to fix her gun.

"Butch... what are you doing?"

He gestured to the boxes perched idly upon the counter, "It's BlamCo! Don't tell me ya don't remember?" She gawked at him blankly. "Well, back when we were kids, you used to bring this shit to school for lunch every single fuckin' day. I used to tease ya, remember? I used to say that you would turn into a giant cheesy noodle if ya didn't eat something else for once. You told me to fuck off and-"

"Yeah, no, I remember all that. Trust me," she shuffled into the kitchen, flinching at the feel of the cold linoleum against her bare feet, "What I want to know is whatare you doing _here_?"

"Well I..." he looked at her and flashed another grin, "I thought ya might be hungry." Her suspicion only grew and she regarded him warily.

"Is this a trick?" She queried, taking a step backwards, "Are you going to sprinkle radroach shit into my food while I'm not looking, or something? Whats your angle?"

"Woah, woah, woah, nosebleed," he put his hands up defensively and pouted, "enough with the interrogation. It ain't like that."

"Then what's it like?"

"Look... I just, I dunno," he stared angrily at the linoleum, "I remember one day you came to school without your usual mac n' cheese. Ya said your dad didn't make any for ya that day, and you pouted and refused to eat any food from the diner. Said your dad made the best damn noodles," he smiled daftly, bringing piercing blue eyes to meet her jade ones. "It just stuck with me... so, shit, Doll. I though this might cheer ya up a bit. Eat some food with Butch-man for ol' times sake."

Dolly pinched herself to see if she was dreaming. Butch, her old bully, the same guy who punched her square in the face and broke her nose... was making her mac n' cheese. Not only did he go out of his way to steal it from their rations supply, but he was actually going to attempt to make it the same way her dad used to. She pursed her lips together and stared at her feet, placing her hand on the back of her neck. She was at a loss for words, really. When she tilted her head to get a look at him, he was leaning against the counter, his palms lying flat. His hair wasn't as disheveled as before, but one tendril of hair still whispered against his forehead. In the past two years, he had really grown into himself. His olive complexion was clear and pock mark free, with no remnants of a pimple-riddled adolescence. His jaw was chiseled and his features had become more refined. A light dusting of facial hair graced his jawline, highlighting his angled cheekbones. Who was this man and what had he done with Butch?

"Shit. I shouldn't have come here," he cursed, pulling her out of her mental reverie. He started to gather up his mess.

She reached her hand out and grabbed his arm, halting his movements. "No, Butch, stay. You just surprised me, is all," she said gently, bringing her arm back to her side. "It's just... so very unlike you."

"Two years of this fucking place can change a person," he glanced at her, his face falling a bit. After a few minutes, his eyes crinkled as he forced a smile,"So, what did your dad use that made this stuff so damn delicious, eh?"

"I..." she paused, racking her brain, "I don't know, actually. He usually had it made and packed away in my lunch before I was awake."

"Well..." Butch leaned against the stove, his head dangling between his shoulder blades, "...shit."

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of her. Butch shot her a vexed look. "It's okay, I haven't had mac n' cheese for a long time. I'm sure it'll taste just fine without my dad's secret ingredient."

Butch watched the pot and stirred it occasionally as she planted herself on one of the bar stools near the breakfast nook. She transferred the fragments of her gun to the kitchen counter and was tinkering away. They sat in a comfortable silence. Every time she would glance up to her companion, he would be staring off into space, as if deep in thought. _Butch deep in though, yeah right_. Every now and then he would catch her staring at him, and she'd look away as quickly and nonchalantly as she could. And each time he would chuckle softly. This wasn't as bad as she was expecting it to be. After the noodles were done cooking, Butch mixed in the dehydrated cheese powder and stirred. After he had carried the bowl of delicious cheesy noodles to her, he proceeded to take the pot to the stove and wash it out.

"You don't have to do that," she suggested, shoving a spoonful of noodles into her mouth. "They're not my utensils."

"Eh, I'm just tryin' to be polite," he shrugged, glancing over his shoulder.

She was midway through shoving another spoonful into her mouth when she stopped, "You? Polite? Okay, who are you?"

"Hey," he said in a chiding tone, "my Ma may have been a drunkard but she taught me some manners, believe it or not."

She quickly caught onto his usage of past tense, "'May have?'"

He stopped scrubbing the pot for a split second before continuing, "She died last year. We don't know what happened," he paused, leaving the pot on a drying rack next to the sink, "I just found her in her bed one mornin' stiff and cold to the touch."

"Oh, Butch," Dolly said sympathetically, setting down her bowl, "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," he shook his head with a dejected smile, "Ya know, it gets easier after a while." He turned to face her, and she sucked in a breath, trying to ignore how handsome he looked in fluorescent lighting. "How's your ol' man? I'm surprised he didn't come back with ya."

"He... uh," she frowned, idly pushing her noodles around with her spoon, "He was killed around this time last year." She swallowed hard, averting her eyes to the metallic counter. Butch went oddly still.

He approached her spot near the breakfast nook, placing a warm, comforting hand on the nape of her neck. He looked down to her with a frown, his cerulean eyes sparkling despondently, "I guess we're both alone in this world, huh, Doll?"

To her complete and utter horror, she found herself leaning into his touch. It was strong, and safe, and masculine. Since she had left the vault, she had, had her fair share of male attention. But her relationships were few and far between, and they rarely lasted more than a few months at a time. Although each man was willing to commit fully to her and were more than happy to submit themselves to a lifetime of weary work and travel, she just couldn't find it in her to stick around. They always lacked something. And it wasn't until she was discussing her relationship problems with Megaton's floozy, Nova, did she realize that what she was looking for couldn't be found in any man. She was looking for her father. A frown tugged at her lips and she closed her eyes with a barely audible sigh.

She could feel his eyes on her face, but didn't dare to open hers. Whatever was transpiring between them was strange and unfamiliar territory. His finger brushed against the nape of her neck, coming down to cup her jaw softly. The coarse pad of his thumb ran up and down her cheek, sending odd tingles up her spine. She knew she should swat his hand away with a slew of insults, but she couldn't find the strength, or desire, to push him away. Butch muttered something under his breath and abruptly removed his hand, turning to plop down on one of the dingy couches. And just like that, the moment was over.

She blushed heavily and looked away, feeling guilty at the way his touch had made heat pool in her stomach. Ugh, what was she doing? This was Butch, for Christ's sake. She shouldn't enjoy his touch; she most certainly shouldn't like the smell of his stupid pomade, and most of all, he shouldn't be here making her dinner. Alone. A click sounded behind her and she swiveled her neck to address Butch, who had hastily lit up a cigarette.

The white stick hung loosely from his lips as he took a drag, slowly exhaling a tendril of smoke. "Ya gonna just stare at me, nosebleed, or do ya got somethin' to say?"

She rolled her eyes and rose to her feet, walking over to join him on the couch. "Where did you get cigarettes?"

"Ma had a stash packed away for a rainy day," he lolled his head, resting it against the back of the couch. He let out another drag, "I still don't know where she got 'em from. Seeing as cigarettes weren't allowed down here 'cause it fucks with the air filter."

She stared at his face for a long while, "Cut the shit Butch. What's the real reason you stopped by?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, offering her his cigarette. She obliged and inhaled, grimacing as the harsh smoke hit the back of her throat. "When you leave the vault, I want you to take me with ya."

"Butch..."

"Nah, Doll, don't give me that," he shook his head fiercely.

She inched closer to him and rolled her shoulder against his in a playful nudge. "So you thought if you buttered me up with mac n' cheese, I'd be more inclined to take you with me?"

He raised his eyebrows with a nod, and rolled his head so that he was looking at her, a cocky grin on his face. "Did it work?"

She let out a snort, "You have got to be kidding me. It'll take more than a box of century old, dehydrated noodles to butter me up, lover boy."

"Aw come on, sweetcheeks," he laughed, his smile lighting up his face, "Ain't no woman can resist the charms of the Butch-man!"

"Hate to break it to you, 'Butch-man', but you are not as charming as you think you are."

He threw his upper body dramatically onto her lap, his hand covering his heart, groaning in mock pain, "Ouch, that hurt me deep."

She felt the laughter erupt from her as she gave him a shove, removing him from her lap. A blush crept across her cheeks and she giggled bashfully. Butch gave her an arrogant smirk and sat upright, finishing what was left of his cigarette. She hated to say she was actually enjoying Butch's company. As the night went on, she tried to ignore the weird fluttering beneath her ribcage. Every time his hand would brush against hers, she could feel herself flush hotly. Every time he would let out a deep, husky laugh, she had to try not to turn to a pathetic puddle on the couch cushions.

_What am I doing_, she mentally chided herself, _have I gone so long without affection that even Butch is starting to look good_? If she had been drinking, she could blame her beer goggles. But she was very much sober. She shook her head. This was definitely Stockholm Syndrome. Every day up until their truce, Butch had made her life a living Hell. She had dreams about beating him up or getting him with her BB gun while no one was looking. And now here she was, sitting on a couch with him trying not to act like a giddy, hormonal teenager.

After a few hours, she found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. She wasn't quite sure what time it was, or how long he had been visiting, but at this point she really didn't care. Butch's silky voice began to lull her to sleep. She shuffled and positioned herself so that she was propped up against his shoulder, her head resting on the leather of his jacket. Beneath her jaw, she felt Butch's muscles tense up for a few seconds before relaxing, leaning more towards her so that she could get comfortable. His stories began to blur as she yawned, her head nodding with sleepiness.

Out of the buzzing of Butch's narration, she heard him mutter softly, "Just reconsider breaking me out of this rat trap, okay Doll?"

"Mmm," she muttered groggily, nuzzling into his warmth.

She heard him let out a soft laugh. With another yawn she dismissed how absolutely fucking weird it was to be using Butch as a pillow. But after a few moments she dismissed it, as the darkness of sleep overwhelmed her and she sank down into it's comforting embrace.

* * *

"_Oh, Butch we can't do this... not here," she giggled, feeling the man above her nuzzle into her neck._

"Too bad," he growled.

_"No, seriously, we-" _

_He crashed his lips into hers, silencing her opposition. At once she gave in, allowing his tongue to explore her mouth. Her fingers tangled into his thick, chestnut locks and she pulled him closer. Their kiss broke and he tipped her chin upwards, exposing the smooth, porcelain skin of her neck. She exhaled shakily as he planted his lips beneath her jaw, and she hummed in pleasure. His mouth began to explore her, his teeth nipping at the soft skin of her collar, trailing a line of needy kisses down her chest. Each kiss he planted left her skin burning, and she ached for him to bring those kisses lower._

_Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach and she groaned, bucking her hips so that they were flush with his. A deep moan reverberated through his chest as he pressed himself against her, warning her of his urgency. She could feel his hardness through the flimsy material of his Vault suit. He was going to have her, and he was going to have her now._

_He brought his mouth to her ear and whispered softly, "Wake up, Dolly." _

_She pulled back, addressing him, dizzy with desire, "What-?"_

_She let out a squeak. Butch's face was no longer his, but Amata's. Surprised, she tried pulling away, only to find her movements halted by Amata's hands. They held her wrists to the ground. Her jade eyes locked with Amata's honeyed ones. Her expression was stern and she opened her mouth and yelled-_

"-Dolly! DOLLY! Wake up!" Amata banged on the door to the apartment.

Dolly awoke with a start. She placed a hand to her chest, urging her frantically beating heart to slow down. Woah, that was a weird dream. She brought her other hand to her face, feeling the warm, flushed skin of her cheeks. She squeezed her legs together, horrified by her very real and very apparent arousal. Then she remembered the night before... Butch, making her food. Butch, cupping her face into his hands. Butch, talking for hours... and how she- oh god! She had fallen asleep against him! Embarrassment prickled her skin and she jerked her head left and right, checking to see if her dream offender was still there. The apartment was empty. She slumped against the couch in relief before getting up to check the door. She pressed the button and the door slid open, revealing a flustered and aggravated Amata.

"I've been banging on your door for ten minutes Dolly, you've slept in a bit too-" she cut off, her eyes roaming Dolly's face, "Hey, why are your cheeks so red?"

She bristled, "What? I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered bitterly, hiding her face with her hands.

Amata shrugged with disinterest, "The Overseer agreed to meet with you in two hours."

Dolly turned and began to pick up her items from the floor and counters, Amata entering the room shortly behind her. "He actually agreed to see me? Doesn't that seem a little-"

"Suspicious?" Amata said bluntly, "Yeah. I'm going to be optimistic and assume that it's a good sign. Maybe he's taking a hiatus as a psycho."

Dolly snorted skeptically, "No. He thinks he has an advantage over me. He either has something up his sleeve to bargain with or," she looked Amata matter-of-factly, "he's going to try and kill me."

"Well, regardless," Amata said huffily, "I'll be waiting in your dad's office and we can discuss this further... after you get ready, of course."

Dolly yawned and shooed her friend away. Amata let out an indignant huff and left the apartment, muttering to herself about "stubborn redheads." Dolly rolled her eyes and packed away her broken rifle, walking to the kitchen for a drink. To her surprise, two bowls sat in the drying rack alongside the pot from the last night. She could faint at the idea of Butch actually cleaning up after himself. Just the thought of that grease ball made her blush and she shook her head, willing away the images from her dream. She opened the fridge to grab a Nuka-Cola, tossing the rest into her pack for later.

After chugging the refreshing liquid she headed to tidy herself up. She climbed into the cramped bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping under the warm water with a sigh. If anything, she was going to miss being this clean. Better to get in her bathing now before having to leave and going back to being a grimy, dirt-covered adventurer. She inhaled a breath of steam. If Butch really wanted to leave this place, he would have to prepare for a pretty foul-smelling future.

She exited the shower and stepped in front of the mirror, wiping away a thin layer of condensation. The woman staring back at her was a stranger. When she was younger, her eyes had been a light sea foam green, sparkling with the innocence and naivety of youth. The eyes staring back at her now were dark, turbulent pools of jade. Her hair had grown a good amount in the past two years. Where it was once just above her ear, it now reached her collar bones. Her soft auburn hair clung to her face. She normally liked her hair short, but finding a dependable barber in the wastes was harder than finding clean water. And despite being a rough and tough wastelander, she still cared a bit about how she looked and refused to chop it off herself. Regardless, the look was starting to grow on her.

She combed her wet hair into a high bun and exited the bathroom, climbing into a a pair of dingy black pants and a dark t-shirt. She climbed into her leather armor. It had been damaged in the scuffle she had with a Supermutant, but it was still holding together fairly well. She made a mental note to stop by Moira's once she got home for a quick fix me up. She grabbed her bags and walked to the door. She turned around and regarded the apartment, feeling a wave of sadness wash over her. It was only one night, but she had come to like this place. Nostalgia hit her as she remembered all her days of living down here, coming home to her father in an apartment much like this one. It hurt her to remember how happy she had been. She turned the lights off and left the room, heading towards the clinic.

She checked her pip-boy for the time and realized she was a bit ahead of schedule. As she approached the clinic, Susie Mack and Christine Kendall were standing by the doorway. Although they spoke softly, she could still hear their conversation. She slowed her pace and stepped lightly.

"So," Susie began, "how does it feel to be bunking with Ol' Lady Palmer?"

"Terrible! I can't believe I have to share a dorm with her. How creepy is that?" Christine blurted out in a high-pitched voice, swatting her hand in front of her face.

"Oh, don't you wish it was Butch?" Susie sighed, like a woman in love.

Dolly froze mid-step, listening intently.

"Ew, gross," Christine answered swiftly, "Oh god, no. What's wrong with you?"

Dolly continued walking, picking up her footing so that the two girls knew she was approaching. As she came closer the girls noticed her. Christine smiled and waved, while Susie gave her a dark, intimidating look. Well, as intimidating as the slight, blonde girl could be.

"Hey Dolly!" Christine beckoned her over with a wave, "I haven't had a chance to say hi to you since you came back."

Susie gave Christine a light smack on the arm, glowering at Dolly. Christine gave an odd look to her friend before shrugging and asking Dolly about how she had been since she left.

"Oh, you know," fighting for her life every day and struggling with the fact that she abandoned her dying father, "the usual."

"Come on," Christine combed her fingers through her raven hair, "it's the surface. It can't just be 'usual.' What's it like out there?"

"Dusty, dangerous, and hot," she grumbled. "There are bugs the size of cars and everyone you meet wants to shoot you. There's also these giant green mutant guys and _man_," she blew out a low whistle, placing her hands on her hips, "do they fuck shit up."

"Bugs the size of cars?" Christine repeated, her face losing color, "Giant green mutants?"

Dolly couldn't help but feel amused by the girls skittishness, "Yeah, giant green mutants. The other day I saw one rip a guy in half- you should've seen it! He exploded like a pinata but, instead of candy, there was... you know, viscera."

Christine blanched and she put a hand to her mouth, "I think... I think I'm going to walk away now. It was nice seeing you again, Dolly."

Dolly couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. It was just some teasing, it was all in good fun. But she really had seen a man get ripped in half. It was more fascinating than horrifying, since mutilated body parts were commonplace. It was a raider so she had a hard time feeling any sympathy when he was snatched up and torn to shreds, his intestines making a delicious snack for a lumbering green behemoth. The girl hobbled away with a low mutter, her head shaking back in forth in disbelief. Susie lingered behind. Dolly stared at the blonde woman before her, quirking a judgmental eyebrow. The woman reflected her gesture and popped her neck, avoiding eye contact. Dolly considered just walking away until Susie spoke up.

"I saw Butch leaving your room this morning," she said with an accusatory glare.

_Fuck._

"Oh, for God's sake, Susie," Dolly rubbed the back of her neck, finding her allegation a bit childish... regardless of whether or not it had any truth to it. "It's not like that, so don't give me that bullshit. And since when do you care about Butch? I remember you absolutely despising the Tunnel Snakes."

Susie crossed her arms and, "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's not like there's an abundance of men for me to choose from. After a while, you just stop being picky."

Oh god, was that what was happening to her? Dolly shuddered at the thought.

"Well, good job on lowering your standards," she gave Susie a soft punch to the shoulder, "Have fun with the Butch-man. I have more important things to do."

Susie muttered an expletive under her breath and stomped away. Dolly watched the woman for a bit and turned to meet Amata. Her boots squelched against the metal floor, her bag jingling with an abundance of caps and other various goods. Her nerves began to grow as she grew closer to the clinic. Everyone was counting on her to be a hero and, God damn it, if she wasn't tired of everyone relying on her. But this was Amata, she had to remind herself. This wasn't just a stranger offering caps for a good deed. This was her friend for years. She entered the clinic, which was empty except for Freddie Gomez who seemed to be sulking near the back office. Amata sat in a chair adjacent from him, her elbows propped up on her knees. Her gaze was distant as she stared at the paper-littered floor.

"Hey," Dolly waved and Amata jumped, startled.

"Oh hey, you're earlier than I thought you'd be."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't take me long to get ready."

"Why are you wearing your armor? I thought you were going to resolve this peacefully."

Dolly stared down at her friend with an exasperated expression, "Amata, if he tries to hurt me, this is my best defense."

Amata shook her head in agreement, "I know, I'm sorry. I'm just... on edge."

"There's no reason to be," Dolly murmured, "I can handle this."

Her friend gazed up at her. Amata's wide, almond eyes were red and weary. They were watery pools of troubled thoughts and she wanted to hug her more than anything, "I don't want to send you off to your death. I don't know if I could live with myself if I-"

"Amata, I don't mean to be rude but I've been through worse than this. I can handle one crazy man with a gun."

Amata's gaze traveled back to the floor, crestfallen. She had taken so much on since the vault erupted into chaos. It was too much for a twenty one year old. Her shoulders were hunched forward, as if she was physically carrying the weight of the vault upon them. If disposing of the new Overseer could allay Amata's stress, then it's worth it. She smiled sadly and placed a hand upon Amata's shoulder. Amata's hand went to Dolly's, returning the gesture with an affectionate squeeze. Her thick lashes brushed against her cheekbones, wet from unshed tears.

"Thank you, Dolly," she stood up and walked to the entrance of the clinic. "I'm sure the Overseer wouldn't mind if you showed up a bit early. The guards have been notified and will not attack you."

"I won't fail you, captain," she saluted, straightening her posture.

Amata smiled for a brief second before it disappeared, "Wherever your Dad is, I'm sure he's proud of you."

Dolly felt something hard lodge itself in her throat, and she had to struggle to breath. Amata did not know how much that meant to her. She threw her pack to ground and grabbed her friend, embracing her as if this was the last time she would ever see her. Amata squeezed back, letting out a soft sigh. After a few moments, they broke off their hug. Dolly gave another salute before slinging her pack over her shoulder and setting off to Overseer's office. She followed the confusing tunnels and stairways until she came into an opening. The room was dimly lit, with abandoned barricades scatter about. It was the room she had walked through with Officer Gomez when she had arrived the day prior.

Her skin prickled and she felt as though she was being watched. Her jade eyes wandered up to the large, circular window to the Overseer's office. There, staring back at her, was Allen Mack.

_Now or never._

* * *

**A/N: So? How'd you guys like the cutesy face touching? How about the naughty dream? I was debating on whether or not this should be a slow burner but then I remembered... oh god, no, I hate those kind of fics. R&R! **


	4. Weary Exile

**Hey everyone! Sorry I haven't updated in a bit. Lost my job and am currently looking for another. To my newest review, thank you! I wrote in a little extra Dolly and Butch for you at the end. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**Chapter Four:**  
"Weary Exile"

* * *

_Now or never._

Dolly kept eye contact with him until she disappeared out of sight and into the tunnel beneath the office. The glass was foggy as he stared at her, unmoving. How creepy. The halls echoed with the soft thrum of the generators. Lights flickered sporadically above her head as she took a right turn, quickly jogging up the flight of stairs. As she reached the top she opened her pack, grabbing her back up 10mm pistol. She tucked it into the holster on her thigh for easy access. If he was going to pull something on her, it was better to be prepared. Amata was expecting her to be cordial, but the odds were not in her favor.

She sucked in a deep breath and followed the hallway until she reached the office outside of the Overseer's den. A flash of memories came back to her as she remembered finding Jonas' body by the front desk. His glasses had been smashed and blood dribbled from his nose and mouth. She had cried for him that night, all alone on the dirty spare beds in Megaton. She shook her head to clear her mind.

As she approached the door to the Overseer's room she couldn't help the anxiety that began to surface. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage and she wanted to leave so badly. From the first moment she stepped out of the sun and into the tunnel of Vault 101, she wanted nothing but to turn around and flee. To forget that this place ever existed; that the memories of her life here were from a different time. A different person. She swallowed hard, her hand rose shakily to open the door.

With a swoosh the doors slid apart.

Allen remained still, staring out of his large office window. She wondered momentarily if he had even heard her come in. Reluctantly, she crept into the room, her hand poised above her holster. All he had to do was point his rifle at her and she'd shoot. The floor let out a creak beneath her boot and Allen turned around slowly. His face was impassive, his red baseball cap pulled over his eyes. As he titled his chin upwards to look at her and his eyes narrowed an imperceptible amount. His lips pursed together and she watched as his hands clenched at his side. Dolly froze half way across the room. Allen slowly sauntered over to her and closed the gap between them. She took a step backwards.

"Well, well," he gave a deep, hoarse chuckle, "look who decided to crawl back home."

She glared at him silently.

"What's the matter? Homesick?" he sneered, pointing an accusatory finger at her, "Is the outside not everything it's cracked up to be? Or was it just that Daddy didn't want you anymore?"

Rage pooled in her chest and she felt her ears grow hot.

When she didn't answer, Allen gave her a lopsided grin, "Too bad. You're not wanted here. You're scum."

Despite the swirling, heaving anger that began to form in her brain, she pulled her hand away from her gun. She put her hands up, showing him that she wasn't a threat, "Hold on, Allen. I'm just here to talk."

"Oh really? Because you weren't here to talk with the last Overseer," he spat angrily, his voice gaining volume. He hoisted up his hand and pointed at his chest with his thumb, "That's why _I'm_ in charge, now. So you'll excuse me if I don't trust you, and if I don't think you have my Vault's best interests at heart."

With a deep breath, Dolly exhaled her anger. "Allen, you don't know what happened or why I did what I did-"

"Shut your mouth," he snapped. She bit the inside of her cheek, barely containing her cool. "I'll make this easy for you. You can walk away and let me handle the Vault, or I can put you down like a rabid dog. Your choice."

"Come on, be reasonable," she spoke calmly, "you need to open the vault."

"You know what?" He queried as he took a step closer to her, his mouth pulling into a scowl. "From what I hear, the last Overseer tried to be reasonable about things, and you killed him for his efforts."

His hand went behind him to reach for his rifle, "I think I'll skip the 'reasonable' thing and just fucking kill you, now."

But Dolly was faster. She reached for her pistol and aimed the barrel at his temple. She pulled the trigger and watched as blood spurted all over the office floor. His body convulsed before he dropped to the ground in an awkward heap. After a few seconds she stood over him, her gun poised at his face. His dark eyes were wide with shock and his jaw hung open loosely, capturing the last fearful moments of his life. Blood bubbled out of his mouth and cascaded down the sides of his cheeks. Bits of charred flesh hung halfheartedly around the gaping hole where the bullet had exited his the side of his skull. Her breath came in quick gasps as her body trembled with adrenaline. Guilt began to twist her stomach and she holstered her gun. The guards had to have heard that.

_Shit_.

She stared down at the lifeless body that was once Allen Mack. She had already killed one Overseer, why not add another to her list? She laughed bitterly, leaning against the Overseer's main terminal. She just couldn't stop digging her hole deeper every chance she got. Her hands came up to cup her face and she twisted away as the smell of gunpowder and metal invaded her senses. An expletive slipped past her lips as she stood and began to rapidly walk away from him. The office doors slid open and, to her surprise, the room before her was empty. No guards. No angry Vault dwellers. A shaky breath escaped her as she picked up her feet and began to run. What was she going to say to Amata? She was a joke. She promised she could do this, that she could handle herself. Now, their Overseer was lying on the floor soaked in blood and stewing in a puddle of his own bodily fluids.

She picked up speed, darting around corners and flying down the halls. It wasn't long before she entered the lower rooms. The clinic wasn't too far off and she began to grow weary, her spurt of energy draining the more she ran. Her ribcage constricted as she forced a deep breath, her lungs burning. As she came closer, she flew up a familiar flight of stairs. She was aware of the presence at the top of the staircase but kept her gaze straight ahead. No one could see her like this; a flustered, anxious mess. But as she tried to walk past the small barricade she felt a hand reach out and tug on her arm. She hurtled backwards and gazed wildly at the perpetrator.

Butch stared back at her, his icy blue eyes wide with concern. His handsome face twisted in confusion as he tucked away his switchblade. "Where are ya off to in such a hurry? And did ya know you're covered in blood?"

Dolly blanched momentarily as she reached her hand up to her neck and face realizing, with horror, that Allen's blood had stained her porcelain skin. Her bottom lip began to tremble and she wiped hurriedly at her neck.

"Oh God, how disgusting," she said, her voice cracking. She wasn't disgusted that it was blood, she had been doused in the gross, crimson fluid plenty of times. But as it dried and crusted to her skin, it became a mark of failure, there for everyone to gawk at. Shame spread through every inch of her.

Butch placed a comforting hand on either of her shoulders and gave her a small shake, "Hey, Doll, it's alright. What happened?"

Her jade eyes snapped up to him as if she had forgotten he was there, "He pulled a gun on me. He was going to-to shoot me. I had no choice... I had no choice," she repeated.

His expression was blank, "What did you do?"

"I... the Overseer... Amata..." she said despondently, her words sputtered and nonsensical.

Butch pulled her into him. She sank into his chest, inhaling the soft scent of soap and hair gel. His hand tangled through her messy bun, which hung in loose tresses around her nape. A delicate sob escaped her lips and Butch rested his chin atop her head. Her hands came up to tangle in his leather jacket and she buried her face into the coarse fabric of his Vault suit. It had all been too much for her. All the anxiety and pressure of being back home. She pushed it all into an alcove in the back of her mind and hoped that the feelings would pass.

But as she pulled the trigger and killed, yet again, another Overseer she couldn't help as all those repressed feelings surfaced. Everyone regarded her with hatred and suspicion, as if she was an enemy invading their territory. The hollow feeling of knowing that she didn't belong down here, and she never did, was almost too much to bear. Rejection stung her as unbidden tears slid from her eyes and rolled down her face. The one thing she came to do and set things right, she had gone and fucked up.

Butch rubbed her back in soothing circles and she felt the tremulous storm within her dissipate.

"There was nothin' else ya could've done, Doll," Butch drawled, his voice reverberating in his chest. "Nothin' you'd have said would have put that man straight."

"Then why was I even asked to come here?" she asked in a small voice.

"I dunno," he said as he continued to rub her back, "Amata believes that anyone can be turned around with a little bit of convincin' I suppose."

She sniffled pathetically and pulled away, her cheeks glistening and her skin blotchy. She looked up at him with big, watery eyes, "He wouldn't even listen to me, Butch. He just went on about how I killed the last Overseer. He brought up my dad and... it all happened so fast. One moment he was berating me and the next he was on the floor."

Butch reached a hand up to wipe away a stray tear, the pad of his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and shuddered, feeling the air between them electrify. Her cheeks felt hot and she blushed, feeling it spread across her face. Her brain was telling her to pull away... but she couldn't. A tingle ran down her spine and felt a sense of longing in her chest.

"You sure are an ugly crier, nosebleed."

The sense of longing evaporated as she snapped her eyes open and glared at him, "You're a bastard."

"Aw come on," he laughed, "I was just playin' with ya."

She fought the grin that tugged at her lips and gave him a shove, "Yeah, yeah. Sure you were."

He cleared his throat and gave her an even look, "I'm sure Amata will understand why ya had to do it. She's one of those people who tries to get where you're comin' from."

Dolly suddenly felt very dramatic with how she had acted, "Thanks, Butch-man."

"Whatever," he said steadily. He flashed her a cocky grin and she couldn't help the butterflies that began to flutter in the pit of her stomach, "Don't tell nobody I was nice to ya."

"They wouldn't believe me even if I did," she rubbed at her face with the back of her hand. Butch let out a soft chuckle.

"Go, get outta here," he nodded towards the clinic and shoved his hands into his jacket. "Amata's waitin' for ya."

She turned around and started walking towards the clinic. Her stomach churned uneasily. Amata was her friend, she'd understand. She had to. She tried to convince herself, chanting it in her mind like a mantra. But the worry of disappointing her friend was overwhelming, and doubt began to creep in. She fiddled with a loose piece on her pip-boy and bit onto her bottom lip, gnawing it worriedly. The entrance to clinic came into view and she stepped into the dimly lit and cluttered little office. Amata was across the room and, as Dolly entered, her head raised to acknowledge her. The anxiety rose again as her friend walked patiently over to her, her face sullen.

"I heard what you did," she spoke harshly.

Dolly's eyebrows shot upwards, "Word travels fast in the Vault, huh?"

"One of the guards on duty saw it happen and came straight to me," Amata crossed her arms."It was terrible... but, I guess it had to be done. You saved us."

"Oh, Amata," Dolly started, rushing towards her with relief.

"But-" Amata interjected, putting her hand up to stop Dolly from coming any closer, "that doesn't change the fact that you killed the Overseer in cold blood, and I can't let that sort of thing stand here."

Dolly's stomached dropped, "Amata, he drew his gun on me first I..." she watched as her friend's expression remained stolid and critical. "I'm afraid to ask, but I think I know where this is going."

Amata let out a deep sigh, "I'm sorry, Dolly. You're a hero..." her honey colored eyes gazed up at her sympathetically, "and you have to leave."

Dolly bit back the urge to argue, to prove that it wasn't in cold blood. That she hadn't become hardened and evil by the wastes; that she was capable of civil mediation and tactfulness. And even though every second spent back in the vault left her with the overwhelming urge to run away, she still cared what Amata thought of her. She always would.

The logical part of her brain understood Amata was just trying to set an example for the Vault as their new Overseer. But the emotional side of her couldn't help the feeling of betrayal. It was like a slap in the face. Her cheek stung as if she had really struck her, and she stared at her friend with barely contained fury. Dolly's limbs shook. Her body ached from the tension in her muscles. Amata held her ground and pointed towards the doorway, shooing Dolly away like some diseased, stray animal.

"I understand why," Dolly said slowly, "but I don't think I can forgive."

"The feeling is mutual."

_Ouch._

A few of the Vault dwellers gathered behind their new overseer. A sea of glowering, judgmental eyes gazed at her from across the clinic. Their condemning looks swept across her person as if wary that she may lunge and attack at any given moment. She was being banished. She thought it would be more befitting of them if they had been carrying torches and pitchforks. Maybe that was just the bitterness talking. Amata had always done what was best... what she felt was morally right. Was she such a wretched thing that her own best friend couldn't even look at her? She supposed it was karma. After taking the lives of their two Overseer's, one being her best friend's father, and destroying everything that these people had known... she deserved it. Acceptance washed over her, dousing the growing fire of vitriol that had threatened to possess her.

She forced a smile and left the clinic, turning her back on the people she had known for years. Turning her back on a part of her she fought to forget ever day. Although she felt like wilting and disappearing, she held her shoulders high. She wouldn't let them see how this was affecting her. As she came around the corner, she felt herself crack. The long walk to entrance awaited her, and she was never to see this place again. She shifted her pack to her other shoulder and began to trek towards the giant hatch to freedom. She approached Butch's post and was expecting a barrage of questioning... but he wasn't there. A thought crossed her mind- maybe Butch had heard the conversation with Amata. Maybe he realized his post to defend the rebels was no longer necessary. The threat had been eliminated. But at what expense?

She wandered for a while, not quite aware of her surroundings. It didn't matter how long it took her to leave, these were the last moments in the metal casing that once held her within its grasp. All they wanted here was to be free, but they had no idea what dangers were awaiting them. Any freedom is worth it regardless of the hardships, she supposed. She approached the small room that housed the giant hatch to the outside world. A clanking noise drew her from her reverie. She lifted her head and looked around until her gaze fell upon a familiar leather clad grease ball. Butch was tapping his fingers against the metal hatch rhythmically at an impatient speed. His back was turned to her and she noticed that the snake emblem that had been haphazardly scrawled on before was now a delicate, embroidered masterpiece. His tarnished, deep brown leather jacket had been replaced with the usual black one. A small pack was slung over his shoulder.

"Hey Butch-man," she called out. "Who invited you?"

Butch flinched, as if she had frightened him. "Hey, Doll. I'm here give ya a nice send off."

"Yeah, uh-huh," she scoffed as she came closer, tugging at the torn strap of his bag. "Then why do you have a pack with you?"

"I'm leavin' with you."

"No, you're not."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I can't have your blood on my hands, Butch. If I lead you out there, there's no way of telling if you're going to be safe. If you're prepared. The last thing I want to see is your rotting corpse stashed away in some warehouse as a snack for Supermutants."

"I can handle myself just fine. I'm a Tunnel Snake, baby."

"Yeah, okay. Speaking of snakes," she said idly, switching the conversation. "Where did you get that jacket? The last one you were wearing was a bit... different."

His expression went of one of amusement to one of regret as he stared down at the studded sleeves of his jacket. "This was Paul's. The night you left, he was bit pretty bad by some radroaches. I had never seen somethin' like that before. We had no one to take care of him, nobody knew what to do. He died that night. I left his jacket in his room and decided to make a new one. Seemed a bit disrespectful to take his after all that, ya know? But now that everything is over I thought it would be a good way to represent him, kinda like an-"

"Homage?" Dolly suggested.

"I ain't sure what that means but, okay."

A stillness settled over them as she took in what he had told her. If only her dad had been there to help... or Jonas. Maybe Paul would still be alive. The man before her shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. A gesture so familiar she felt something squeeze inside her stomach. She placed a reluctant hand on his arm, realization hitting her.

"This might be the last time I see you, Butch."

"No it won't, Doll," he said in a low tone.

A gentle, thoughtful smile whispered across his lips and she couldn't help but stare. His eyes met hers, a softness held in those cerulean depths that she hadn't seen nor thought he was capable of. A knowing look, an empathetic look. He reached his hand out, tucking a strand of her tawny hair behind her ear.

"Be safe out there," his voice was hushed, "'cause if not, I'll be shortly behind ya to kick your ass."

Dolly slumped a bit under the kindness of his remark. She trembled with suppressed emotions, words threatened to tumble from her delicate pink lips. Her hand remained on his arm, her grip tightening. Within her chest, her heart swelled against her ribcage. A sense of fondness for the greasy man in front of her spread through every extremity and she fought the urge to pull him into a hug; to tug him along with her. They may be on their own in this horrible, fucked up place... but they didn't have to be lonely. But there was no guaranteeing she could protect him... and the idea of losing another person close to her was unbearable.

The thought slipped from her mind as he pulled his arm out from under her grasp and took a step backwards. She was surprised when she felt a pang of hurt at his gesture and looked up at him morosely, the tears forming at the edges of her eyes threatening to spill. She had cried more in her two days here than she had in the past two years. She dabbed hurriedly at eyes, she was such a weepy mess.

Butch gave her a nod with a fraction of a smile, his hands tucking into the pockets of his jacket. His eyes fell to the floor as she turned around and opened the hatch. She half expected Butch to push past her and run for it, but he didn't. She turned to look at him as she went to close the hatch, something within her pleading to just ask him to come along. But she didn't. She swallowed down the irrational desire and closed the hatch. Her hands turned the circular wheel to lock it in place and exhaled shakily.

Behind her stood the terminal, blinking and flashing invitingly. As she neared the platform she realized that Jim's body had been cleaned up, all that remained was rusty stain. She hoped he was finally at rest. Her fingers brushed over the letters for Amata's name slowly, reluctantly. She pressed enter and threw a final look over her shoulder, expecting him to be there. Of course, he wasn't. She felt foolish for wishing so.

The entrance to Vault 101 screeched and retracted, a glimpse of sunlight dancing and twirling along the metal floor. She reached into her pack and grabbed her cloth mask and goggles, preparing herself for the long journey home in the blistering desert heat. Dirt crunched beneath her feet as she entered the tunnel, the entrance screeching and locking behind her with decisiveness.

Despite all that happened, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders as she tugged on her gear. The rickety door to the outside creaked restlessly against the harsh winds and she yanked it open. The stale wasteland air hit her and she breathed in deeply, relishing in the scent of the land she had come to know so well. As she stepped into the sweltering, swirling tendrils of the sun she released all of her stress and guilt, leaving it within the depths of the metal monster she had just escaped. It was over. This place couldn't hurt her anymore.

She turned her head to the skyline and headed towards Megaton.

* * *

**A/N: Ah so we are progressing forward in the Butch X F!LW dynamic. Methinks a certain Vault dweller is starting to come to terms with her weird feelings for Butch. Anyways! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, sorry it was kind of short. I have so much for you guys to read that I kind of wanted to just hurry through the rest of Trouble on the Homefront and get to the good stuff.**

There will be far less tears in the next chapter, I assure you. Hope to see some reviews! Thanks everyone!


	5. A Wonderful Guy

**Hey everyone! Sorry for my absence. I lost my job and just lost my desire to write, but I'm back. I warn you, this next chapter doesn't have any Butch. There's some Harkness x LW. Don't worry, it's not what you think. **

**Also! I came back to reviews! Thank you, it sparked my desire to post this chapter. I so greatly appreciate the feedback, as this is my first published fanfic. It's encouraging :) Enjoy the chapter! **

* * *

**Chapter Five: **  
"A Wonderful Guy"

* * *

The bar was dark and smoky, small lanterns illuminating the rickety structure in a dull amber haze. It was empty, aside from the usual barflies, which is how she preferred things. After the last few days, she was going to need a nice healthy dose of alcohol... even though that's what put her in this predicament in the first place. Dolly let out a frustrated sigh. She wanted to forget about everything- her desolate hotel room, the whiskey, Harkness tugging impatiently at her shorts, the little bruises on her neck where his teeth had nipped at her skin... okay, she needed a drink. And maybe a cold shower.

She perched herself upon the stool farthest from the door and waved at the barkeep for her regular poison. Belle slid the glass of vodka down the length of the smooth metal surface bar until it reached her eager hands. Without hesitation, she tossed it back and ordered for another. The drink burned every inch of her esophagus until she felt it pool warmly in the pit of her stomach.

As the barkeep passed her another glass, she buried her face in the palm of her free hand. She was stupid. She was so fucking stupid.

It had been a month since she had left the Vault _again_. At first, she was gleeful. She had managed to make it back to Megaton in under an hour. But as soon as the lumbering metal gates of her home came in to view she felt a sort of disappointment settle over her. What was left for her there?

In her down time, she was at Doc's clinic picking up the slack. Since the fall of Eden and her father's death, she had kind of slipped into the background. Menial tasks here and there, a few jobs in exchange for some caps. But overall, it was a boring existence. She spent most of her time alone, in bars. In the past month she had picked up a bit of an addiction to Jet, despite the doctor within her screaming to cut that shit out. Maybe she was so lax because she knew one trip to Doc and he'd fix her right up with discretion.

She had quickly grown listless and decided to base herself at Rivet City for a while, just a change of scenery. With all of her things packed she headed towards the floating metropolis with a new sense of purpose. But once she had purchased a room and settled into her new home she felt that familiar tug of disappointment. The worst part was, ever since she had stepped out into the wastes, she could _not_ get Butch off her mind. As much as she tried to push the thought of him away, he kept ricocheting back to her. It felt odd to crave his attention when her entire life she desired the exact opposite. But something had changed when she went back, and it irked her.

Dolly had picked up some shifts at the science lab within Rivet City. She intended to create portable water filters that could purify any water in an instant. But, her materials were low and her mind just wasn't in the right place. Then one night she had decided to head down to the Muddy Rudder instead of heading straight to bed. It was there that she found Harkness, the handsome android security officer. He was charming and funny. He made her forget about everything that had happened.

Drink after drink she found herself leaning on him, her hands lingering when she touched him, and her laughs a little more giving than they should've been. One thing lead to another and they went back to her hotel room. She inhaled a copious amount of Jet and they fucked like rabbits until she was chafed and exhausted. But in her mind, as Harkness touched her and caressed her, she couldn't help but picture Butch's perfectly quaffed hair and rough fingers. As soon as she had come to and saw the attractive blonde curled up in her bed, she was filled with instant regret. She left him an awkward, scribbled note and got dressed, preparing herself for another day in the lab.

Since that occurrence, she had been doing everything in her might to avoid him. It had already been a week and it was getting tiring dodging out of view and hiding in random rooms. She thought to just leave again but the idea of traveling all the way back to Megaton made her shudder in distaste. A part of her told her to man up and just tell him it was a mistake, but the part of her that feared hurting people made her rethink it.

Dolly stiffened as she felt a presence approach to the left of her, drawing her from her reverie. The patron casually took a seat, as if he belonged there, and ordered a round for himself. Slowly, her verdant eyes met his icy blues. His dirty blonde hair was combed neatly to the side, his A3-21 Plasma Rifle strapped to his back. As they stared at one another, he quirked one of his familiar, cocky smiles. A blush crept across her cheeks as she remembered what happened and she quickly turned away, making an obvious attempt to ignore him.

"Hey Dolly, did you just get back from a trip or something?" He asked casually, grabbing his drink.

"Ah, no," she answered awkwardly, frowning into her vodka. Stupid liquor. It's all liquor's fault. She glared at her cup, "I've just been really busy in the lab. You know, science stuff."

"That's odd, I checked there a few times to say hello and you weren't there."

"I think you may have caught me on my lunch break."

He let out a sigh and hunched over, "You are horrible at lying."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she feigned innocence.

"Come on, Dolly. I know you've been avoiding me."

She gave him a shocked expression and opened her mouth to lie, but no words came out.

"I knew it."

"Harkness, I didn't mean it... I'm just-"

"You know, you have to quit that shit," he started, interrupting her in a hushed tone. She knew he meant the Jet. "As a doctor, I thought you knew better."

"You didn't seem to mind in the moment," she said harshly.

"Yeah, well, it's a filthy habit. And if you don't cut that shit out then I'm going to have to ask you to leave for a while," he threatened. "But since I have unwavering faith in you, I know I won't have to do that."

She nodded solemnly.

"But since I finally have your attention, I have a question to ask you."

"Hmm?" She hummed with disinterest.

"There's a small group of raiders that have taken up camp. They're too close for comfort, and I was wondering if you feel up to taking them out for me."

The auburn haired woman groaned with protest, "Aw Hell, Harkness. No."

"You're the only one I know who is capable of the job. I have to remain here, keep an eye out for the city."

"I said no," she spoke firmly, "I'm done being the hero."

His hand slid to hers in a comforting gesture, but she pulled away. Her eyes remained glued to her beverage, refusing to look up into his stunning crystal eyes. Just his presence was bringing back all those fuzzy memories that she had been forcibly ignoring for the past week. Beside her, she felt his body tense as he exhaled a frustrated sigh.

"What are you doing, Dolly?"

"I'm doing what's best for me," she muttered, glancing towards him out of the corner of her eye.

Silently, he nodded, as if finding her response acceptable. "I'm here, if you need me."

Harkness rose to his feet and placed some caps on the counter, striding towards the hulls of the ship. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. _Need_ him? Yeah, like she needed a hole in the head. Bitterly, she threw back the rest of her drink and paid her tab.

That night, as she curled up into the stiff mat of her hotel bed, she nuzzled the lumpy pillow beneath her head and pretended it was a certain foul-mouthed brunette.

* * *

The next morning, Dolly awoke with a new sense of vitality. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror with aversion, clicking her tongue in annoyance as she fixed her birds nest called hair. Once she found herself presentable she pulled on her jumpsuit and grabbed her lab coat from the coat rack in the corner.

Dolly walked into the lab, fastening the buttons of her dirty white lab coat. She pulled her spectacles from her bag and wiped them clean, balancing them neatly upon her nose. She traipsed through the lab, waving at a few of her counterparts. The other scientists regarded her warily, with halfhearted waves and quick nods. The morale for the lab hadn't been the same since Dr. Li had left to The Citadel. After Eden had them cornered and the water purifier was compromised, she escorted Dr. Li and a few of her researchers to the safety of the Brotherhood. But after everything was said and done, Dr. Li decided her place was there amongst them. The rest of her crew wound up here, completing tasks of growing non-irradiated food and other frivolous things.

She approached her messy work desk coated in paperwork and graphs. As she muddled through all of yesterday's calculations, she heard footsteps approaching her comfy corner. She looked over her glasses to see one of the newer interns staring at her sheepishly. In his hands was a tiny box, wrapped in soft brown paper and tied off with purple twine.

"Mr. Edwards, what is this?"

"Well, I know I missed your birthday last month while I was on sight, trying to fix computer systems at the Jefferson Memorial," he placed the box gently onto her desk, "so I thought I'd make up for it."

She regarded his present cautiously, unfurling the twine. The man before her was giddy with excitement and she began to grow annoyed. But as she popped off the lid to the box, she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips. There, wrapped up in harsh wool cloth, were three miniature charcoal grates. At the time of Edwards' departure, she had shared her schematics for the portable water filter with him. One of the main parts of the structure was a charcoal grate. The grate would be in the final chamber of the filter, and it would help to eliminate any bad taste and leave a refreshing, clean drink. Her verdant eyes rose to his beaming face and she felt her heart warm.

"Thank you, Clive, this is... this is wonderful," she picked up one of the grates and placed it into the palm of her hand. "How did you do this?"

He set a manilla folder on her desk, "When I had down time, I studied your original schematics and formulated a way to make those grates, so that not only were they durable and filtered properly... but interchangeable when needed. I've detailed each step in this folder."

Her fingers roamed over the folder and she looked back up to the intern. His green hair was longer than she remembered, but the sides were shaved. A piercing or two sparkled with iridescence as the laboratory lights caught them, drawing attention away from the blurry tattoo above his brow. He certainly was an odd man, but he was superbly genius.

"When this project is finished, I will make sure to credit you for your helpfulness and your outstanding brilliance," she put the folder into her bottom drawer with care. After a moment she looked back up to Clive, a serious tone to her voice. "I have to ask... how is the memorial fairing?"

His smile wavered for a split second, "When the filter malfunctioned, it did an obscene amount of damage, and not just with the computer systems. The rotunda is still barred and no one is allowed to enter since it shut down. It's been leaking high levels or radiation, and no one can be in the building for extended periods of time."

Dolly's face fell an imperceptible amount. A memory of stepping over her father's discolored corpse as she reached to activate the filter crossed her train of sight. She remembered the harsh grip of the radiation like it happened yesterday. The way it felt like her insides were boiling, how her stomach flipped and she vomited right before she lost consciousness. She awoke in the Citadel to the news that Sarah Lyons and her had passed out due to a high level energy spike and were retrieved later by the Brotherhood. When Dolly stirred from her coma she left after a few hours, not paying any mind to whether or not Sarah would wake up. All the sacrifice seemed in vain, as a year after the filter was activated, it went on the fritz and shut down. The levels of radiation were so high that no one could enter the rotunda without risking their livelihood. The wastes, once again, went without clean water.

"I just want to say how inspiring it is that you are continuing your father's work," he said positively, drawing her out of her reverie. "We're all devastated after the filter failed us. It seemed like such a sure thing, and for the small amount of time that it functioned, it was a blessing. But I'm very thankful that you are still here to help create alternatives. I don't know what we'd be doing without that mind of yours."

She found herself glowing with the praise, but humbled. "Clive..."

He put his hand up to silence her, "No, I know what you're about to say. But I have faith in your ability, and I know that your father's project will once again be restored. Until that day, your portable water filters will help to save many lives."

Everyone had faith in her, but she had so little faith in herself.

She watched his retreating frame, downcast. The man was only a year younger than herself but she felt so old. Her body was twenty-one years of age, but she felt as though she was well into her fifties. According to the team of Rivet City, she was considered a superior only second to Dr. Li. If only they knew that halfway across the map, an old doctor sat in his metal clinic, knowing her only as "the worst doctor in the wastes." A title she found more befitting. She wrapped up the charcoal grates and pushed them to the side.

She unfurled the schematics to her portable water filter. It was a tube that acted as a straw, consisting of three chambers. When the straw hits the water, the first chamber filters particles, membranes and molecules. Next, the water passes through an iodine filtration system designed to eliminate disease and radiation. The final chamber threads the water through the charcoal grates, which will give the water a cleaner, more refreshing taste.

It was simple, but with limited materials it could prove almost impossible to finish. Just like her father's dream. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

The rest of her time at the lab moved on without fault. She thought of new resources to construct the straw out of. Metal seemed too risky, since it is likely to rust. She assumed plastic would be better, but finding enough materials in able to mold thousands of plastic straws and its individual chambers was an issue all on its own. Next time she was near a library, she could look up alternative ways to make it. As the lab attendants hung up their safety goggles and retired their rubber gloves, they all spoke of heading to Muddy Rudder for a quick drink. Dolly, feeling a bit queasy at the thought of liquor, waved them off with a promise to catch them next time. She couldn't help to notice the disappointment on Clive's face as they retreated.

She waved at Vera as she walked past the hotel lobby, moving down to the room she had claimed. She unlocked the hatch and let herself in, hanging her lab coat on the coat rack. As she was settling her things a glimmer of something caught her eye. There, upon her bed, was a tape recorder. She walked up to it and picked it up, her curiosity peaking. She turned on her heel and marched back down to the lobby, recorder in hand. As she approached the desk, Vera looked up at her with wide eyes.

"Do you know about this?" She asked hurriedly.

Vera shook her head with an earnest frown, "No, Dr. Murdoch, I do not."

"Did you give someone access to my room?"

Again, the woman gave her a sincere frown, "I don't have extra keys for the rooms, just my master key."

Puzzled, Dolly muttered an apology and retreated back to the confines of her room. Her slender finger pressed onto the play button and she set it down on the bed with reluctance. There was a wave of static and a few clicks before a choppy voice echoed around her.

"_I know that you are developing something... new. Come to the coordinates listed... and... materials for your project. All I ask... something in return._"

The recorder went quiet. She popped open the plastic window encasing the tape and saw a small note wedged in the hinges. As she unrolled the paper she realized it was coordinates and entered them into her pip-boy. To her surprise, the location was somewhere near Megaton. Probably a small shack or abandoned homestead. She furrowed her brows. Who had left this here? Was it even an honest offer? How did she know that this wasn't a trap?

Dolly chewed on her bottom lip and set the tape recorder on her nightstand. Maybe a night to think it over would do her some good. She didn't want to jump into anything.

The lamp clicked off and she crawled under the covers, but sleep never came for her.

* * *

**A/N: The plot thickens.**


	6. Blood

**Hey everyone! The story is going to pick up pretty quickly now. This chapter is long, and I've revised it many times in the past week. Forgive me if you find any discrepancies with her eye color. My original character for this had black hair and blue eyes and I tried to catch the descriptions and change them. Some blood in this chapter, references to sexual assault, and drugs. You have been warned. **

**Please read and review!**

* * *

**Chapter Six:**  
"Blood"

* * *

Harsh winds pelted against the decaying homestead. A small candle flickered, illuminating the tiny room. Shadows danced along the walls, against the boarded up windows and tattered curtains. A couple of stained bedrolls laid against the tarnished floorboards, scattered remnants of pork n' beans and cooked noodle wrappers tucked underneath its soft green material.

The wind whistled against the windows as they huddled around one another, the candle providing poor lighting for the contract laid out before them. A bundle of assault rifles leaned against the wall as one man sat chewing on a bobby pin. Another paced the room, only to stop every now and again to listen to the wind, as if it were talking to him.

Three other men surrounded the contract, muttering quietly to one another in hushed whispers.

"Do ya think it's gonna work, Boss?" One man, with errant purple hair and missing teeth, queried.

"We sent Janus out with the recorder and our coordinates," he shrugged, his onyx eyes scanning over the contract. "All we can do is wait and see if she falls for the bait."

"How do we know we can beat her?" Another man chimed in, combing a nervous hand through his blonde hair. "I mean, she's notoriously tough, boss. If Eden couldn't even take her down, how are we supposed to?"

"We'll outnumber her," the man said nonchalantly, his bald head shiny with perspiration. "She's a loner. There's too many of us and we have the element of surprise. All it'll take is one grenade or a bullet to the head when she isn't expecting it."

The blonde didn't seem to accept his answer, "But how do we know we can even trust Janus to deliver? I mean, he's new to this. And the last time I checked in with him, he seemed reluctant to even do it."

Boss turned his head to the blonde, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"I told ya this when I came back," the blonde sighed, "Janus said he and the doc kind of bonded over somethin' and he was startin' to feel bad about trying to lure her away."

"If he knows what's good for him, he'll carry through."

"But-"

"Shut ya mouth, Swift," the man with purple hair barked. "This contract is worth too many caps, there's no way little ol' Jay-Jay would throw away that amount of dough over some guilt."

Swift's eyes fell down to his gloved fingers and he flexed them idly. "I dunno, Thetic, he seemed pretty taken with her."

The men in the group simultaneously groaned.

"Give it a rest, will ya?" Thetic rolled his eyes and plopped down onto his bedroll, scratching angrily at his purple head.

As Swift opened his mouth to rebut Thetic's carelessness, there was a heavy knock on the door. Boss jumped to his feet and grabbed his assault rifle, signaling for the men to stay put. He paced over to a boarded up window facing the front yard and peeked through a small gap. As soon as his eyes fell upon the sullen, green haired mercenary he set his weapon down and opened the door. The sky was a murky purple as the sun began to glance over the jagged skyline, the small dead bushes near the door trembling as the wind shook them. Boss smirked a bit as he stepped aside with a welcoming gesture.

"Ah, Janus, we were just talking about you."

Janus looked up, his dark azure eyes glinting despondently. "She's received the holotape and the recorder."

"That's a good boy," Boss smiled happily. "When should we be expecting her?"

Janus shrugged, picking at the ring in his eyebrow. "I can't say, Boss. She's smart, she'll be suspicious. It may be a while before she even considers taking up a random offer."

"That's why you'll be there to convince her," Thetic smiled sheepishly, his toothless grin making Janus flinch in disgust.

"She thinks I'm heading to the Jefferson Memorial," Janus turned away, "So I'll have to pay the team there a visit so she won't suspect me of helping you bastards."

"That's not nice," Swift muttered sadly. "We're just doing this to get by, Janus. We all wish there was a better way than killing decent human beings."

A few of the men chuckled at Swift's naivety and good nature. They all knew very well that most of them enjoyed killing people, and keeping the wastes in chaos was just a bonus.

"Regardless," Boss interjected, waving his hand dramatically, "If we accomplish this, we'll go down in history as the notorious group who took out the Lone Wanderer, the Wasteland Hero! We'll be getting offers left and right to take out unsuspecting goody two shoes. Imagine all the caps!"

"I don't think it's right," Janus went to open the door.

"Well, you shouldn't have joined the Talon Company then, eh lover boy?" Boss chided him. As Janus turned to leave, Boss knotted his fist into Janus' pastel hair and yanked him backwards, pulling his ear to his lips. "You turn back on this contract, and I'll kill you. I'll slit your neck from ear to ear and fuck your pretty little throat. You got that?"

He released Janus with a shove, and the teenager fell to the floor with a thud. The homestead erupted in a cacophony of laughter. Janus pushed himself up, feeling the heat of embarrassment spread across his cheeks. He straightened his leather jacket with a huff and retreated into the shadows of the wastes. The rickety door slammed shut behind him. He could still hear the team laughing, at his expense, through the thin plaster walls.

The last thing he expected when he joined Talon Company was to actually feel empathy for one of their victims. When they received the contract a few months prior, their leader hand picked Janus to infiltrate Rivet City due to his affinity for computer sciences and mechanics. And when he first met Dolly, he was surprised to find that she was the unfortunate person their leader was offered so many caps to kill. He didn't find her to be rather extraordinary... in fact he found her to be bossy, callous, and cold.

It made the idea of luring her to her death all the more bearable. But for some reason, about a week before she left on a run for a particular schematic, she shared something with him. He'll never forget the way her jade eyes lit up as she unfurled her rough sketch of the portable water purifier. How a gentle smile graced her lips and he saw, for the first time, why people found her so magnetic.

Her laugh was soft and feminine, and every now and then she'd tuck a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear with excitement. Towards the end of their shared night together, she had smiled ruefully and confessed that he was the first person to see her invention. It was her trust in him, and the sincerity within her, that spurred Janus' desire to make those charcoal grates for her. He pawned it off as a belated birthday gift, but he would have done it regardless.

Remorse tore at his insides and he felt his muscles grow taut. That woman had somehow become a _friend_, and he was wracking his brain for ways to weasel out of the contract. If he wasn't so chicken shit and worried about his own demise, he wouldn't have placed the tape recorder in her room at all.

He rubbed his shoulders to ease the tenseness as he began to march towards the Jefferson Memorial.

* * *

Dolly laid upon her bed in the early hours of the morning staring blankly at the ceiling. For hours she tossed and turned, trying to relax and go to sleep, but she couldn't. Usually, she could sleep like a rock and she definitely was tired. But the occurrences of the night before had her on edge. With a weak push, she sat upright, balancing shakily on her arms as she propped herself up.

She stared at the tape recorder on her night stand uneasily, wracking her brain for who could have gotten into her room. Anyone with a knack for lock picking could easily break into her mini-haven here in Rivet City. For a brief moment, she wondered if it was Harkness' way of getting her out of town, but quickly dismissed the frivolity of such an idea. Harkness was a good man, he wouldn't sink to trickery to get her out of the way. Besides, he had just asked her for help in disposing of raiders two days ago.

She rubbed her cold fingers over her face, relishing in the burn as her tired eyes closed tightly. Her head throbbed and she flinched in pain as her vision blurred. She grit her teeth, her jaw creaking as she tensed up. The longer she waited to get her next dose of Jet, the more frequent and close together her headaches were. She eyed her box of contraband tucked underneath her dresser. She knew addiction, and she wanted so badly to deny that she had been reckless enough to develop one. A doctor should know better than to delve into drugs, especially ones with such a highly addictive concentrate of chemicals. Despite her better judgment, she found herself shuffling to her hidden stash. Just one more time, just to get her through today, and she'd be done. She'd swallow her pride and visit the doctor in Rivet City to be cured of this, lord knows she has enough caps to cover it.

She brought the inhaler to her mouth and let out a shaky breath.

_Knock knock knock_

She rolled her eyes, tossing her Jet back into the small cardboard box.

_Knock knock knock _

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you."

She rose to her feet, placing two fingers against her temple and rubbing in circles.

"Open the god damn door, Dolly."

She knew that voice, it was Harkness. Angrily, she unlocked the hatch and threw the door open. Harkness stood there, in all his handsome android glory, his face stern. His hair was slightly frazzled and he pressed his hand to the door, pushing the hatch open a little bit further.

"You need to come with me... _now_," his voice was low and hushed. His other hand grasped onto her arm, "There's a... situation."

She looked down at his hand upon her arm incredulously. "Don't I at least get a 'please' first?"

"Dolly, this not the time to be a smart ass."

The doctor sighed and gave the man before her a placid look, "Is it a medical emergency? Or should I go get my guns?"

"Get your guns and some armor, pronto."

He released his grip on her and she turned away, walking towards her dresser. She pulled out her leather armor and began to piece it together, expecting the worse. After few quiet moments she grabbed her (brand new) assault rifle from under the bed. She looked up to the safety captain, but he was trying to avoid eye contact with her. She slung her gun over her shoulder and followed Harkness out into the hallway. He began to walk briskly towards the upper decks.

"Can you at least tell me what's going on?"

He glanced back at her briefly, "Two civilians and a Rivet City guard have been abducted by a group of raiders. They're about a mile away from here."

Dolly blanched, "The same raiders you wanted me to take out two days ago?"

He didn't have to say anything, she could tell by the tenseness in his posture that she was correct. A sudden wave of guilt hit her and she turned her eyes to the floor. _Fuck_.

"Some of the guards here managed to take out a few of them when they got too close," Harkness shrugged, taking a right and up some stairs, "but they appear to have a pretty large group."

"How many?"

"After the last time they tried getting onto our ship," he calculated quietly, "about twenty."

Dolly chewed on her bottom lip as they exited the main entrance, scurrying out onto the deck. That wasn't too many, she had taken out entire buildings filled with more raiders than that.

She caught up to Harkness so that she was at his flank, "How do we know they're still alive?"

Harkness stared down at her with cold, harsh blues. "We don't, but I'm not going to leave them there."

"How do we know they're even Rivet City civilians? They might not be worth our time, Harkness. They might be dead, and we'll just have been-"

"Shut up," he barked, pressing the button to call the large connecting bridge, "that guard they took happens to be a good officer and damn good friend. They grabbed him while he was trying to protect those civilians. The other two..." he trailed off.

Oh, she got it. They were doing this to rescue his comrade, not the civilians.

The bridge aligned with the deck and they sprinted across it. They passed a beggar by the stairs and Dolly grabbed a purified bottle of water from her bag, tossing it to him. The man let out cries of joy and thanked her, but she just gave him a small smile and a wave. Her companion was already halfway down the stair case and she once again had to jog to keep up with him. She rejoined him at the bottom, checking her pip-boy. It was barely noon and she had already been dragged out of bed to come save the day. She clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"I don't know what happened to you, Dolly," Harkness began in a soft tone, "all you used to care about was helping people and going out of your way to make sure people were safe. Strangers, travelers, vagrants, anyone who needed a helping hand... you were there."

Dolly crossed her arms with a huff. "Yeah, well, I'm tired of being the go-to gal for everyone's problems."

"You just gave that beggar clean water and, you know, you _are _helping me."

"That's different, you're a friend."

"Just a friend, huh?"

"I... I just, uh..." she sputtered, her face growing hot.

Harkness let out a sad chuckle, shaking his head. "It's okay. I know what we have in unrequited, no harsh feelings."

Dolly came to a halt and so did Harkness. He turned and gave her a curious look. "I'm sorry, Harkness. I didn't mean to hurt you, you have to understand-"

Harkness let out an indignant scoff, interrupting her, and continued to walk towards the shore line. "Shut the fuck up and get a move on, we don't have time to sit here and have an emotional powwow."

She balled her hands into fists and stared daggers into his back. To her, their dalliance was just a one night stand and nothing else. But she knew he had been enamored with her from the moment she began working with him. They spent two years together as close friends and after a while people just become attached... feelings develop and things become complicated.

After her father's death, though, she found no solace in the company of others. Whereas she used to find delight and happiness just being around Harkness, she now felt... nothing. He used to make her stomach flutter and yeah, maybe she had, had a few naughty fantasies of what it would be like to shag an android but... none of that mattered anymore. She had used him in a moment of weakness when she needed a warm body, someone just to touch and to remind her that she was still alive.

This was the damage she had done.

She followed suit, her mood darkening. It wasn't long before they approached a large abandoned building drenched in colorful graffiti. She felt the back of her neck prickle and she twisted her gaze upwards. There, at the edge of the roof, was a raider decked out in pain spike armor. She raised her gun and took a step backwards, waiting for the raider's head to come into view.

Harkness caught on to what she was doing and pressed his back against the concrete face of the building. The raider was laughing and talking to someone, waving around a small pistol. She gazed down her site and took a deep breath, her finger caressing the trigger. He stopped moving for a brief moment and she fired at him, relishing in the satisfaction as his head twisted backwards. There was a spray of crimson and he collapsed. His companion peeked a head over the edge and she fired again, watching as his blood dribbled down the wall. She gave a small, victorious smirk to Harkness. He just rolled his eyes and nodded towards the double doors of the entrance.

With as much stillness as she could muster, she began to work on the lock. After a few curses and a broken bobby pin, she managed to unlock the door. It swung open silently and she fell into a crouch, Harkness mimicking her movements. They crept along the cluttered floors, avoiding scattered bottles of liquor and random books. A movement caught her eye and she snapped her head to the left, locking on to the backs of two retreating raiders. She raised her gun again, but Harkness beat her to it. With two shots he took them out.

Dolly turned to Harkness with a serious look. "This is an old police station. There's a cell down the hall and to the right. If I were keeping hostages, I would probably throw them in there."

He nodded in agreement and they rose to their feet, lightly treading towards the hallway. They paused for a moment to check around the corner and, finding it all clear, they scurried into the rooms where the cells were kept. She could see the metal bars and a desk to their right and she pointed in that direction, letting her companion take the lead. As Harkness approached the small cell he froze, staring at the concrete beneath his feet. She followed his gaze and felt her heart stop- blood, and a lot of it. From the shape of the smear, it seemed like someone had dragged a very bloody body into this building. And judging from the shear amount, there was no way that, that person had survived.

Dolly looked to her friend and rested a comforting hand against his shoulder. His eyes wandered to her face and she felt her heart wrench at the disappointment displayed on his chiseled features.

"I'll go look," she patted his back gently, "you watch my back."

She gazed into the darkened cell, barely able to tell if there was anyone in there. The light from her pip-boy turned on, illuminating the small room in a soft yellow glow. She peeked through the bars before picking the lock, cringing as the cell door opened with a horrible creak. Two bodies laid in heaps in the corner of the room, surrounded by pools of deep red. A few items were discarded around them- a can of unopened beans, some blood stained rags, a rat-tailed comb. With uneven footing, she tiptoed towards the captives, swallowing the lump of anxiety that rose in her throat. Her boot caught onto something and she tripped, placing an unsteady hand against the wall to support herself.

The light from her pip-boy slid to the floor, illuminating two very frightening yellow eyes. She jumped backwards and had to choke back a squeak, only to realize that it was a ghoul. She knelt down to the body and checked for a pulse, but found none. It wasn't a feral ghoul, by the looks of his clothing. She guided her light towards another body. The body adorned the black riot gear that was commonly used by Rivet guards. She shuffled towards the guard and felt for a pulse. The pulse was weak and thready, and when she pulled her hand away she could feel the stickiness of his blood. The body behind the guard began to squirm and she illuminated the civilian with her pip-boy.

She let out a gasp as the ray of light fell upon a familiar snake symbol.

"Everything okay in there, Dolly?" Harkness whispered.

Dolly remained quiet, pressing a shaky hand against the man's back, rolling him to face her. At once she knew who this civilian was. His handsome, olive skin was tarnished by wasteland grime and dirt. His chestnut hair fell in pieces around his forehead, sticking to his skin from a mixture of perspiration and blood. A light dusting of facial hair coated his jaw and neck and his mouth hung open crookedly. His eyes opened a fraction, squinting against the harsh light of her pip-boy. There was a brief moment where fear flashed across his face, but he relaxed once he recognized who she was. The man let out a painful cough, a small smirk ghosting his pale lips.

"Well if it isn't my best gal," a weak, familiar voice rang out, "the one who sprang me from the Vault."

His rolled back into his skull and he let out a breath, losing consciousness. That was _not_ a good sign.

Panic rose in her and she grabbed onto Butch's leather jacket, pulling him over the guard and closer to her. His hands were bound with barbed wire, and she reached into her back pocket for her bowie knife. She began to frantically cut at the wire, feeling her heart pounding against her ribcage. She let out a small, triumphant sob as the knife finally broke through the flimsy wire. With all the strength she could muster, she pulled Butch onto her back and stood up, her legs trembling.

"What's going on in there? Dolly?" Harkness peeked his head in, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"The guard is still alive," she ground out, struggling to balance the man upon her back. "Go grab him and let's get the fuck out of here."

"And the other civilian?" he queried, moving quickly into the cell.

"He didn't make it."

Harkness grabbed the guard and picked him up bridal style, nodding to Dolly to move forward. She dropped back and let her companion lead the way. Butch was heavier than he looked and she began to struggle carrying him. Her arms shook as she fought the urge to drop him, her muscles aching in protest. As they left the room containing the cells, she began to fall behind. Harkness was already close to the exit.

Footsteps echoed through the halls and she pressed her body to go forward. As she passed an opening, she looked down the hallway to her right and felt a coldness take over her. There, with a 10mm and a sadistic smile, was the meanest looking raider she had ever seen. The man had to have been at least seven feet tall, his bright yellow mohawk brushing against the ceiling. A bullet whizzed past her, another one lodging itself within her shoulder. She let out a curse and began to jog towards the door, fear prickling her skin.

It felt like one of those dreams- the kind where she was being chased and no matter how hard she tried to run, it felt like she was moving in water. She hated those dreams. The man on her back let out a groan as she bashed through the exit, barely catching herself as she stumbled quickly away from the man pursuing her. About fifteen feet away, Harkness had laid down the guard and was bent on one knee, his plasma rifle raised at the ready. As the gargantuan exited the doorway, Harkness fired three times. After a few moments she heard her pursuer drop to the ground. She sighed in relief and jogged over to her companion, sinking to her knees. She pulled Butch from her back and rolled him to the ground with a grunt. His eyes fluttered open as his head rocked back and forth, his gaze locking on to hers once he realized where he was.

As he laid there, he gazed up to her with a soft, sincere smile.

_This might be the last time I see you, Butch._

_No it won't, Doll._

Tears began to well in her eyes and she grabbed his collar, pulling him into a hug. One hand propped him up while the other tangled into his messy brunette locks.

"You're so stupid," she whispered into his neck, "you're so fucking stupid."

Butch raised his hand and rested it against her waist, "Good to see ya too, Doll."

She pulled away, letting his head rest on her lap. Cuts and bruises decorated his tan skin. His lip had been split open and a horrendous black bruise was beginning to form around the edges of his right eye. The bones appeared to be sunken in and she ran a delicate finger along his cheekbone. The fact that he was here, his head poised in her lap, was infuriating. He was supposed to stay in the vault, he wasn't supposed to be out here. She wanted to slap him so hard, to shake him until his head rolled off his shoulders. Ire swelled in her chest and she wiped away angry tears. Butch stared up at her with sad, knowing eyes.

"We can't stay here, Dolly," she heard Harkness snap as he picked up the guard. "That entire building is swarming with raiders like an angry beehive."

She nodded solemnly, staring down at the man in her lap. "Butch, can you stand?"

"My right ankle was crushed by one of them fuck heads," he sat up, leaning on the palm of his hand, "but yeah I think I can walk."

With a few deep breaths she looped a hand under Butch's armpit, helping him to stand. He threw a shaky arm around his shoulder and lent in to her, his head brushing against her cheek. Butch was prideful, but he was never above asking for help when he needed it. Still, she was surprised that he hadn't bitched about requiring her assistance. After all, the big bad tunnel snake was one of the toughest sons of bitches in the wastes.

They began to wobble towards the city. Every now and then she would look over her shoulder, making sure that no one was following them. After all, they had only taken out about five of their men. There were fifteen more still dwelling in that building. She tightened her grip around Butch's waist, trying to push away the urge to storm back in there and go ape shit.

Maybe she'd come back tonight with a few grenades.

By the time they reached the stairs to Rivet, the sun was low in the sky. Lugging along a crippled ex vault dweller had slowed them down quite a bit. She helped Butch up the stairs, supporting him as he dragged his lame foot behind him. It was another thirty minutes before they reached the clinic. The doctor was hunched over his desk and typing away. A few x-rays were scattered against one of the beds, and Dolly pushed them aside before letting Butch take a seat. Harkness stood still, holding onto his officer tightly.

"Dr. Preston," Dolly called out.

The man jumped at the sound of her voice and swiveled around in his chair. As he took in the sight of the two injured men, his fuzzy white eyebrows shot upwards.

"What is going on here?" He jumped to his feet and headed over to Butch.

"Raiders," Harkness answered curtly, laying the guard upon one of the green mats attached to the wall.

The old man clicked his tongue as he held Butch's chin, turning his face to better look at the bruise. "Well, sir, it looks like they did quite a number on you. Please remove your jacket."

Butch twisted his arm and let out a hiss. Dolly went to help him remove his Tunnel Snake's jacket, gently folding it and placing it next to him. She heard Dr. Preston let out an annoyed grunt as his eyes wandered her shoulder.

"Dolly," the doctor grabbed her arm, "you've been shot."

She gazed down at her wound, the black fabric of her shirt slightly ripped beneath the leather plating of her armor. "Oh, yeah, it's nothing I can't take care of."

He gave her a judgmental glance before returning to work on Butch. "Alright, well, both of you clear out of here. I have work to do."

"Surely I can help you, Dr. Preston. After all, I am pretty good at what I-"

"No," he interrupted as he pulled out his stethoscope. He unzipped Butch's vault suit and pulled it open, revealing a grimy, blood stained shirt, pressing the head of his stethoscope against Butch's chest. "I don't let outside doctors work in my clinic, you know this."

"But I-"

"Dolly," Harkness stopped her, "let Dr. Preston do his job."

The urge to turn around and slap Harkness across the face was strong.

"Fine... but I'm coming back in a few hours."

The doctor waved her away without taking a second glance. She watched as Butch cringed with every move, his right eye swelling to the point where he couldn't keep it open. His single gaze rose to meet hers and he nodded, trying to give her a comforting smile. As much as she wanted to stay by his side, she knew she had to leave. But she had plenty of questions for him later.

"I'll be back, Butch. Don't be difficult," her hand found his thigh and she gave it a light squeeze before she turned on her heel and exited into the hallway.

Harkness lingered to gaze at the strange new visitor in a vault uniform before following closely behind. The hatch to the clinic closed with a sharp click. Dolly felt herself deflate a bit. She leaned against the cool metal wall and exhaled shakily, bringing her fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose. The headaches were back. She squeezed her eyes shut in pain, becoming very aware that Harkness was still standing across from her. She could sense the tension between them. The air was so thick she could take out her bowie knife and cut through it.

"Who is that?" he murmured.

She refused to meet his accusatory glare. "His name is Butch. We grew up together in the vault."

Harkness paused and she opened her eyes a margin, staring at her feet. The wound to her shoulder began to throb. She was expecting a barrage of questions from Harkness... but he stayed quiet for a good while.

"How did he get out?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, toying her lip between her forefinger and thumb. "When I left the vault a month ago, I made sure no one followed me out- especially Butch. Maybe Amata opened the vault?"

There was silence.

"What is he to you?" He asked.

Dolly rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in frustration, "What does it matter, Harkness? He's a friend, okay?"

She went to toss a slew of insults his way until she saw the coldness in his icy blue depths. Harkness gave her one, final look before storming away. The action in itself was kind of funny, but she couldn't ignore the guilt that tugged at her. Things had become so stormy between them, she wasn't sure if things would ever clear up.

It was starting to look up after their talk today... but seeing her with Butch must've triggered something in him. Was it the way she grabbed onto Butch and cried for him? Or the way she tangled her fingers into his greasy, umber hair? It was plausible she was just horrified by discovering her friend had been injured but... Harkness was very astute. He could pick up on miniscule hints and body language, he probably saw something that she just wasn't ready to admit yet.

She ran her fingers through her russet hair and headed towards her room, intent on removing the bullet currently lodged in the flesh of her shoulder. Of course, she would entertain herself with a little Jet while she waited for the doctor to patch up Butch. There was something to look forward to.

* * *

It had been almost eight hours since she came back to Rivet City with Butch slung over her shoulder. After lugging the injured dolt to the clinic, she was abruptly kicked out by the doctor and forced to distract herself. All she could do was sit in her tiny room and inhale Jet and wait to be let back in. The worst part was trying to keep her mind from wandering to him. He wasn't supposed to be out here, he wasn't supposed to be endangering his life, and he sure as hell shouldn't have been locked away in some raider's dungeon.

The wait had finally come to a close, and Dr. Preston ushered her into the clinic. Butch was knocked out and tucked under a heap of blankets, dozing away peacefully on the stiff clinic bed. She pulled up a chair and sat as his bedside, a medical journal tucked neatly under her arm. A large bandage was wrapped around his injured eye, and his right ankle had been wrapped up in a compression stocking. Dr. Preston had told her that he had to reset Butch's ankle and administer a supple amount of stimpaks just to get his body in an acceptable state.

Her emerald eyes gazed over the top of her book, watching the rise and fall of his chest. His vault suit had been forgone, and he remained in his grimy looking white t-shirt. His pip-boy sat idly upon his wrist and she eyed it thoughtfully. The remnants of her life in the vault were everywhere. Reluctantly, she brought her hand up to brush away a few stray hairs from his face.

Although it was hard to admit, she was actually pretty happy he was here. She had spent an entire month trying to busy herself with the portable water filter and clinic duties. But every night when her head hit the pillow and she closed her eyes, his face drifted across her listless mind. She could still remember the smell of his pomade as she sat in comfortable silence and ate cheesy noodles. Or the feel of his warmth as she nuzzled her face into his chest as she cried. How he tucked her hair behind her ear and his fingers lingered.

She buried her face into her book as she felt a blush creep across her cheeks. This has only one way of ending: in disaster. Butch began to stir. She watched as he tried to sit up, only to slip back down against the bed. With a groan, he brought his hand to his face and felt the bandage.

Dolly reached out and grabbed onto his wrist, "Don't mess with your bandage."

His single eye opened slowly as he addressed her with a blank face, "Hey Doll, watchin' over the Butch-man are ya?"

She released his wrist and leaned back in her chair. "You could say that... mostly, I have a bone to pick with you. But first, how are you feeling?"

"I feel like I got the shit kicked outta me," he tried to laugh, but it only came out as a pitiful cough.

"Yeah, you don't look too good, either," she said in a playful tone, closing her book and placing it on the floor beside her.

"Ouch."

A few moments ticked on quietly as she gathered her thoughts. "What are you doing out here?"

His eyebrow raised for a moment, "I told ya I was gonna leave the vault."

"Mmm," she hummed in disbelief, "I don't believe you did."

"Yes, I did."

"No, you did not."

"Yes! I told ya right before you left!"

She ignored his protest with a soft hum, knowing the argument was just going to go in circles. "How did you hear about Rivet City?"

"After I got out, I went to this really tall town made outta this shitty lookin' metal."

"Megaton. That's where I live," she shook her head, "I mean, I have a house there but I'm rarely there for longer than a week. Who did you talk to?"

"Some bartender. He had this weird accent, Irish... or somethin'. He told me my best bet was Rivet City, that it had a shit ton of supplies and stuff," he toyed with the tape holding his bandage in place, "You have a house there, huh?"

"Yeah," she laughed to herself, "I helped out the sheriff and disabled that huge bomb in the center of town. Why they decided to build a town around an active bomb, I have no clue."

"Yeah it didn't make sense but," he shrugged, "I didn't know how things went out here. That coulda been normal, for all I know."

Dolly felt her lips tug into a smile, but she pushed it away. Her face was grave and she chewed onto her bottom lip in thought. "Why the _fuck _did you leave the vault, Butch? Do you have a death wish?"

"I dunno," he shrugged defensively, "I thought if you could survive, I would have a good chance. I was doin' alright until I came across those... raiders? Yeah, that's what ya called them. There was a pretty big group attackin' some guy in riot gear and-"

"And you thought you could take them? With what, your Needle?" She gestured to the pocket knife laying forlornly atop his folded clothes.

"Hey, his name is Toothpick, and yeah! I thought I could," he hissed, "But... then they grabbed my bag and stole a whole bunch of shit, said they had some playin' left to do with me and dragged me away. I thought I could defend myself."

"You were wrong," she said through her teeth.

"Yeah, well I was right about one thing at least," he said, a sudden flash of mirth lighting up his azure eyes.

She regarded him warily, "Right about what?"

"I told ya that wouldn't be the last time you saw me."

Her heart fluttered behind her ribs momentarily before she exhaled an awkward chuckle, shaking her head skeptically. "Don't think you can butter me up with sweet words, DeLoria."

They laughed softly before the room grew quiet. The silence was heavy, and his lone eye studied her face. He folded an arm behind his head and scowled, looking away.

"What's the damage?" He queried, pointing to his face.

"Well," she started, scooting closer to his bedside, "whoever hit you did so with such force that they shattered your cheekbone and left you concussed. The doctor had to graft a metal plate into your face to repair the bone. You're very lucky a shard didn't break off and pierce your brain. Aside from getting four stitches in your busted lip, a few broken ribs, a bruised tail bone, and having to reset your ankle, you've been pumped full of stimpaks."

"Shouldn't I be all better, then?"

She shook her head, "No. Stimpaks regenerate cells and repair damaged tissue, but your body took such a beating that it's going to take a day or two. Your ankle is moderately healed but you're wearing a compression stocking to assist healthy blood flow, there was a great deal of swelling. The stitches from grafting that metal plate may take a bit to heal, as well, but the bruising will last the longest."

He let out a low whistle, "Damn. My first real beating and I almost die. How's that for karma, eh, Doll?"

Dolly was still for a good while, fighting back a wave of frustrated tears. She wasn't quite sure what it was about Butch, but she felt comfortable crying in front of him. With a trembling hand she grabbed onto his, intertwining her fingers with his. His eyes wandered to their joined hands briefly before looking into her olive depths, his face searching her for an explanation. She brought his bruised knuckles to her mouth and placed a chaste kiss against his olive skin.

"I was really scared for you, Butch," she let out a shaky breath. A swell of emotions gripped at her throat and her voice came out strangled and hushed. "When I saw your stupid leather jacket and the blood I was sure you were dead... God damn it, I left you back in the vault because I was afraid of exactly this. I wanted to take you with me that day, but I couldn't... I couldn't risk it."

"Hey, Doll, don't cry. You always cry," he sat up weakly, his free coming around to wipe away the stray tears from her cheek. That gesture had become so familiar. "I'm alright! I'm alive, I ain't goin' no where Doll face."

She could barely see him through her blurred vision. The fear in her chest was combated by the happiness to have him here.

"You shouldn't have left by yourself. Look what happened to you! You were so close to the city and you were still dragged away and beaten to a pulp."

"Dolly..."

"What if- what if I hadn't found you in time? What if you had just died in that cell all alone, and I wouldn't have been none the wiser? I would've been thinking of you every day and hoping to see you again and I wouldn't have known you were gone."

The tears were falling incessantly, and she couldn't contain the uneven breaths and sobs that rocked her.

Butch's free hand traveled from her face to her neck, and he brought her close to him. Her crying stopped immediately as she felt Butch press his lips to the corner of her mouth. Her skin beneath his lips prickled and her body went rigid. She wanted more. With the slight tilt of her head, she turned her face and caught his mouth with her own. Butch froze for a moment before giving in, his mouth moving against hers in a gentle rhythm. His lips were soft and beckoning as he coaxed her mouth open, his teeth nipping at the tender skin of her lip. He tasted like stale cigarettes and something sweet that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

A tingle shot down her spine and she shuttered at the delicious sensation, relishing in the warmth that began to pool in her core. Her other hand came up to tangle into the fabric of his white t-shirt and she moaned. Butch broke away to press a few kisses to her jaw line before going back to her mouth. After what felt like an eternity, they pulled away, breathless. Butch rested his forehead to hers and let out a content sigh. A part of her was still surprised that this was Butch, the boy who pulled her hair and tripped her when they were seven.

"I don't recommend strenuous activity after the beating he endured, Dr. Murdoch."

She jumped at the sound of his voice and craned her neck to look at the intruder. Dr. Preston had his back pressed up against the wall and a medical chart in his hand.

The look on his face was smug and he quirked an eyebrow at her. Dolly felt her face grow hot and she spun around to conceal her blush. Butch just let out a deep laugh and sunk back into bed. Dr. Preston approached her from behind and thrust the medical chart into her hands. She looked up to him quizzically before glancing down at the paperwork. He had a conglomerate of both patient's injuries scribbled down, but her eyes immediately latched onto Butch's name. Beneath it, he had signed that she was his physician and that she had the right to look at his medical records. Her eyes shot up into her hair line and she gawked at the injured greaser before her.

"What's this all about?"

"Mr. DeLoria has stated that you are his physician," Dr. Preston stated in a mocking tone, clearing his throat. "You need to sign off at the bottom, it's for my medical records."

Honestly, she was flattered. Butch trusted her with his medical information. She felt her stomach churn as she signed her name at the bottom of the paper. Dr. Preston meandered out of the room, sniggering to himself. She knew by the end of the day, everyone would know about her and Butch's liaison- if it could even be called that. At once, her mind jumped to Harkness. Oh _god_, he would know. She began to gnaw at her cuticles.

Butch picked up on her change of mood. "What's goin' on, Doll?"

She looked up to him with a forced smile, "Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it."

He didn't looked convinced, but shrugged and let it go. "When can I get out of here?"

"The doctor says he wants to observe you for another day," she rose to her feet and stood at the head of the bed.

She pressed her hand to his chest and he placed hand his atop hers, his thumb caressing the side of her hand in small circles. That familiar feeling rose within her, as her heart picked up speed and thumped wildly against her ribcage.

"What am I supposed to do in this place for an entire day? Eh, doc?"

"Don't worry, I'll come visit you. Then I'll bust you out of here."

"I'm lookin' forward to it," his mouth quirked into a crooked grin and she sucked in a breath. She was sure he couldn't be any more handsome than he was in this moment- bruised face, bandages, and all.

"I have some stuff to attend to in the lab," she began to pull away, "I promise I'll come back. In the meantime, there's some pain meds on the night stand. They should knock you out for a while."

Her hand started to pull out from under his and he caught it for just a brief moment before releasing her grip. A smile spread across her face, one so powerful she didn't mind the ache of her muscles. It had been a long while since she smiled so freely, so sincere. The door to the clinic closed tight behind her and she walked towards the lab.

She wasn't sure if she was going to be very productive.

* * *

**A/N: PHEW, that was a lot to take in! How did you like the fluff? There will be more than fluff in the next chapter ;)** **The plot with Talon Company was a bit OC-ish on my part, but I'm building up to it. Slowly but surely. **


	7. Brand New Day

Thank you for the reviews! To **Meonlyred:** you were right, Dolly was messing with him when she called his switchblade Needle. But I forgot to clarify that, so I went back and fixed it. I just wanted to let you know, that your review actually inspired me to keep writing. I was starting to give up, but hearing that someone genuinely likes my story made me incredibly happy. Thank you.

To **Zacharti**: Harkness is totally jelly. You will see that for certain in this chapter ;) And thank you!

Enjoy! I will try to update more frequently.

**Warning: There is some adult content later in this chapter. And by adult content, I mean b-b-bangin'. **

***This chapter has been changed towards the end, please re-read.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven:**  
"Brand New Day"

* * *

It was two in the morning and Dolly stared with tired eyes at the book in her grip. She was currently trying to research how to mass produce a homemade plastic that was pliable and could be molded into a cylinder. So far, she came up with two options. The first was a mixture of milk and vinegar. All she would have to do was boil the concoction and pour it into a mold, then let it dry. But the problem was, with that kind of plastic, the durability has a low threshold. She'd have to make the straws very thick to be able to withstand the daily abuse of the wastes. Her only other option was something she learned in science class: a mixture of polyvinyl alcohol and borax. Neither of which she could find in large quantities.

With a frustrated sigh, she pulled her glasses from her face and rubbed her eyes. She was in way too deep. She was starting to wonder if this was just another mad fantasy she'd be chasing. Forever her father's daughter. A glass of vodka sat at the edge of her desk and she eyed it sheepishly before taking a large gulp, coughing as it burned her esophagus. It was probably counter intuitive to be chugging alcohol while researching but she found it helped clear her mind. Drunk science tended to be a lot more fun than sober science, she had come to realize.

Footsteps echoed down the hall and she gazed upwards towards the door, waiting for whomever was approaching. The lab had technically closed down about six hours ago but it was easier for her to work when it wasn't so crowded. A familiar shock of green hair appeared under the door frame and she felt herself smile a bit, waving to the guest.

"Clive! Back so soon?" She finished off her vodka and closed her book.

"Yeah," he said stiffly, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. "The team at the memorial were doing a great job and didn't really need me."

Dolly glanced at her pip-boy, "It's two in the morning, why did you travel at night? That's quite dangerous, you know."

"I hate the camp they have set up there," he shrugged, "and one of the ladies there never leaves me alone. I would rather trek the wastes in the middle of the night than spend another minute listening to her awkward science related pick up lines."

"Which girl?"

"Uh, she has black hair and a really big nose ring."

"Monica!" she giggled, "That sounds like her. I know she can be abrasive, you just have to brush it off. She's hit on me a few times, too."

Clive smiled smugly, "Oh yeah? Did you ever-"

"Oh, god, no! Girls aren't my thing," she smirked, pulling out a bottle of vodka from her desk, "they're missing one essential thing, and it happens to be my favorite thing."

Clive let out an awkward laugh. Dolly offered him a glass of vodka and he accepted it, throwing it back. He pulled up a chair and sat across from her, pulling a book off the stack and thumbing through it.

"Still stuck on the plastic, huh?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "I just can't seem to find something that's durable enough, and something that I could mass produce without having to go through extensive means to procure."

"What about metal?"

"I've thought about it, we have plenty of it. But I'm worried about rust," she shook her head. "Not only that, but I don't know anyone who is trained in welding."

"I'm sure the right material will come to you. Maybe I can help you a bit."

Dolly bit onto her bottom lip and ran her finger around the mouth of her glass. "You know, speaking of help..."

Clive looked up at her expectantly.

"I found this tape recorder in my room and it gave me some coordinates. It was someone who said they could help me with this project, which is weird because I've only told four people about it."

She could've sworn Clive paled a little bit.

"Oh you know, word travels fast in the scientific community."

"Yes, but not in this one," she said with frustration. "I've made sure to not let this get out. I don't want people know just yet."

"Why's that?"

"It's still in its research phase and... I don't know, after what my father did I don't want to be seen as a copycat. Or as though I'm just clinging onto his coattails."

"Your father was a great man and a very proficient scientist and inventor. I don't think anyone would look down on you for wanting to continue his work," he said comfortingly, "I know I don't."

She waved her hand dismissively. Her green haired friend picked at the ring in his eyebrow, idly flipping through pages of his book.

"This still doesn't explain who left that recorder. I'm sure it's just a dead end, or some cheapskate trying to sell me some miracle solution."

"You don't know that," he said, "maybe it's another scientist who is genuinely curious about your project."

"Preposterous," she snorted. "No one is _just _curious out here. Everyone is willing to help, but only for a price."

His hand reached out and he grabbed onto her wrist, "Dolly, you've been helping strangers during the entirety of your stay out here. Maybe you just need to have a little faith in others and let a stranger help you for once."

She stared at his hands, mulling over his words. It was farfetched but not entirely impossible. Maybe someone was actually just looking out for her. Not that it was unheard of, but she found it hard to believe someone would just throw her a bone.

"I don't know..." she pulled her arm away. "You can't just ask me to have faith in strangers. The world doesn't work like that, Clive."

"It _does_ work like that, you're just not receptive to it."

"Oh, spare me that 'positive mentality' bullshit."

Clive shook his head, "Until you open yourself up to help, things will never get easier for you, Dolly. You just have to learn to trust."

"Look at you, lecturing me like some wise ol' sage." Her hand shook as she poured herself another glass of vodka. "You can't just magically tell yourself to trust and, poof! Oh, look, I'm suddenly a normal person with healthy, functioning relationships."

"I'm just saying..."

"Look, I appreciate your insight. You're a very bright man and I'm always happy to discuss things with you, but this is one thing you can not sway me on. I've been fucked over one too many times to trust people."

Clive shook his head and went to stand, gently placing her book of solutions back on top of the pile. He ran his fingers through his neon green hair and let out a soft chuckle.

"Just think about it. It's better to carry through with it, check up on the source, and go away empty handed than just never knowing."

She rested her chin in her hand and looked up at her coworker, "Yeah, yeah, Socrates. Go get some sleep."

"Same to you," he pointed to her drink, "and don't get too hammered."

"Don't tell me how to live my life."

The man let out another chuckle and turned to leave, slowly pacing to the door and down the hallway. As soon as he was out of view, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and summoned a small red inhaler. She brought the mechanism to her lips and exhaled, puffing the cloud of chemicals into her throat. As she sucked it all in, she felt her body relax. Her muscles went lax and she dropped the chem to the floor. She folded her arms and let her head sink into them, propping herself up with the desk. After a few moments she felt sleep blanket her and she drifted off, snoring lightly into the sleeves of her lab coat.

* * *

Dolly awoke to the clamor of machinery, her body jolting in shock as something began to make a horrid grinding noise behind her. As soon as she shot up, she instantly regretted it. She hissed and grabbed onto her head, trying to coax away the offending headache. She cracked an eye open and glared around the room, realizing that the team from the memorial had come back. Her gaze searched the room until they fell upon the familiar face of the team leader, and she pushed herself up on wobbly legs. As she walked over to her fellow scientist, she smacked her lips in distaste. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like sandpaper. At the back of her throat, the taste of vodka lingered, and she had to suppress the urge to vomit all over herself.

The team leader saw her approaching and gave her a halfhearted grin, "Hey Dr. Murdoch, sorry to wake you."

Dolly looked around the room disapprovingly through half lidded eyes, "Whats going on here? Why are you back so soon?"

"The radiation spikes were becoming too powerful and too unpredictable," she tied her pale blonde hair into a tight bun and nodded over to the machinery, "we brought back everything. It was too dangerous to stay camped out near there. We're going to stay here while we wait for things to calm down."

"Is anyone injured?"

"No, only a handful of reports of mild radiation poisoning. Nothing a few doses radaway can't handle."

Dolly nodded approvingly, "Thanks, Dr. Callaghan. I'll get out of your way."

The blonde woman began to turn away when a thought struck Dolly.

"Hey, you might want to tell Clive. I think he was planning on returning to the campsite tonight."

The team leader gave her a quizzical look, "Clive? He's the one with the green hair, right? I haven't seen him around there for a while, now."

Dolly stared at her friend baldly, "What are you talking about? He just returned from your camp last night, even said Monica was hitting on him so badly he decided to leave."

The blonde stared back at her, "Dolly, Monica died three weeks ago."

Grief struck her mute for a moment before she shook her head and regained composure, "You said there weren't any injuries?"

"Not this time around. She died of septicemia a few days after we arrived. Cut herself on some rusty pipes and neglected the wound until it was too late. She was in a fever and delirious. We tried to administer some stimpaks but the infection was so advanced that her body wasn't receptive to it."

"She went into cardiac arrest," she completed her friend's statement. "I can't believe it. All these advances in technology and we can't even save one person against a blood infection."

"Monica didn't tell anyone," the woman shrugged, "I only found out after she passed out. I went to change her when I saw the gash in her side. It was infected and filled up with pus. Once I saw the deep streaks of red stretching out from the wound, I knew she was in trouble."

Dolly was so bombarded with information she felt her mind skip like a scratched record, "So you're saying Clive hasn't been to your site in three weeks?"

"No," she said adamantly, "and the last time he was there, he was abrasive with some of the staff. I asked him to leave and adjust his attitude."

Dolly began to respond but was cut off. Vomit filled her mouth and she ran to her desk, pulling out a trash bin, spewing the contents of her stomach into the tiny metal container. Since she hadn't eaten in a while, all that came up was stomach acid and mucus. She spit a few times, to rid herself of the taste, and wiped her mouth. Dr. Callaghan had already left and was attending to a few other scientists, directing them where to place equipment. Clive had been lying to her about everything. Rage filled her chest and she pushed down the urge to flip her desk. Nothing pissed Dolly off more than someone who was so careless, so lack of remorse, that they could lie to someone's face without a second thought. Why? Why was he lying about where he was going?

She had to find Harkness and let him know.

* * *

The day after he rescued his friend and fellow security officer, Harkness had spent most of his time down at the Muddy Rudder. The air was putrid with the stench of alcohol and stale vomit, and Harkness scrunched up his nose in distaste as he sipped his beverage. Belle gave him a pitying look as she handed him another glass, with a remark of it being on the house.

His head was spinning, but he took a swig from his drink regardless. He had a long day of patrols ahead of him and, even though he loved this place, it was starting to become monotonous. A voice broke through the silence, the walkie talkie strapped to his shoulder hissing with static as a command came over the line. Harkness lifted it to respond.

"_Harkness, you there? Over._"

"This is Harkness, what's the issue? Over."

"_Just got a call from Dr. Preston, says he has a disorderly patient. Tried to slug him. Over._"

"Got it, I'll head over to check it out. Over"

The walkie talkie went quiet and Harkness stood from his bar stool, albeit a bit unsteady. He threw down a few caps for a tip and went off to check out the disturbance. As he approached the door to Dr. Preston's office he expected to hear some sign of distress- maybe a clamor, sounds of things being thrown and voices shouting at one another. But it was silent, with nothing but the thrum of the ship. He turned the corner and entered the clinic. The doctor sat at his computer desk, typing away at the flashing green screen. As Harkness entered the room, the doctor looked up to him.

"You're a bit late, Harkness," the doctor hummed, turning back to his computer. "The situation has died down."

"What happened?" He asked, warily regarding the patient's quarters.

"That young man was having a PTSD episode," the old man type away, disinterested. "I sedated him lightly and put him in some soft restraints."

"PTSD? From what, those raiders?" He said, a bit skeptic.

"He has been through quite the beating," Dr. Preston wheeled around in his chair to regard the android, his face serious. "I had to reconstruct his cheekbone, because they hit him with such force that they shattered it. I had to reset his ankle, because they smashed against it with an incredibly heavy object for an extended period of time. Not to mention the plethora of stitches, bruises, and fractured ribs. You, too, would have PTSD after something like that. Especially for such a young kid, not yet experienced with how the world works out here."

"I get it," he crossed his arms. "Do you need me for anything else?"

"I do have one favor to ask of you," he rummaged around the bottom drawer of his desk, retrieving a small white medical journal. "Would you mind bringing this back to Dr. Murdoch? She left it here last night, she was in quite the hurry to get out of here."

Harkness to the book and opened it, idly staring at a medical diagram, "And why's that?"

"I caught her and the patient in quite the tender embrace," he wiggled his eyebrows up and down, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "She was so embarrassed when I walked in on them, she scurried out of here faster than a prairie fire with a tail wind."

His head snapped up and the doctor looked taken aback. "You caught them... doing what exactly?"

"Well, from what I saw, it was nothing more than some necking," he shrugged dismissively. His eyes widened for a moment before regarding the android officer with a rueful look, "Oh, I'm sorry. Dr. Murdoch and you... aren't a 'thing', are you? I know you two spend a lot of time together."

"No... no, just good friends." Harkness felt his insides twist. "I'm just surprised. Didn't know that dimwitted greaser was her type."

"Methinks you sound a bit bitter, Mr. Harkness," the doctor tittered, wagging his finger. The doctor turned back around and resumed updating patient files and, undoubtedly, adding a new patient to his collection.

All Harkness could picture was that grease ball, that sorry excuse for a man running his fingers all over Dolly, pressing his lips to hers. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he nodded meekly at the doctor, taking his leave. The grip on the medical journal was so tight that his knuckles turned white. He did not like the way he was feeling. He had no claim over Dolly... they weren't official, and she made it very clear that what happened was just a one night stand. But it felt like so much more. He had developed strong feelings for the slender redhead, they had known each other since she left the vault. The woman was strong, intelligent, and charismatic. He was drawn to her instantly. At first, he thought she had felt the same. She was flirty and touchy, their conversations were laden with sexual innuendos.

But then her old man died and... things just weren't the same. After she came back from the vault, she seemed more lively. She would smile and touch his arm, laugh at his jokes even though he knew they weren't that funny. Things seemed back to normal, and he was elated to have her back. That night with her, tangled in her limbs and his skin pressed against hers, was one of the best nights of his life. After she gave him the cold shoulder, though, he knew there was no room in her heart for anyone. The only thing that she cared for anymore was finishing her dad's work and carrying on his legacy.

But now she's involved with that greasy brat. It made him sick. What did he have that Harkness couldn't give her? A bad taste lingered in his mouth and he ran a hand over his face, sighing in defeat.

He eyed the journal in his hand. He didn't want to run the book to her, like an obedient page boy. Why should he do things for her anymore? She wasn't his. There was no reason for him to be a shoulder to lean on, she made it perfectly clear that she didn't want him in her life anymore. His body began to tremble with unbidden anger and he let out a growl, shucking the journal down the hall. The pages fluttered and the book hit the wall with a thud. A few bystanders stuck their heads out of their rooms, wondering what had just whizzed past their doorways. But Harkness had turned back around and was already heading for the market place for his patrols.

He was starting to feel a bit better.

* * *

As Dolly approached the hatch to the marketplace, the smell of beans and pork invaded her senses. A wave of nausea washed over her and she stopped momentarily, pushing away the spell of dizziness. Hangovers always made her want to stop drinking and yet she never did. Maybe one day she would learn her lesson. The market was cluttered with the lab attendees who had just returned from their journey devouring food hungrily at Gary's Galley. She couldn't wait to show Butch around, although she had a feeling he would enjoy the Muddy Rudder above anything else here. Her eyes scanned the the floor. Almost instantly, she recognized Harkness, the top of his blonde head bobbing along in conversation with Flak.

She flew down the stairs, "Harkness!"

The man snapped his head to her. Instantly she knew something was amiss. The android was stiff and his mouth was pulled downwards into a scowl. Her movement halted for a fraction before she continued onward. For some reason, she felt like she was approaching an angry bull. In her two years of being around Harkness, she had never seen him so tense. Except when they were kicking ass out in the wasteland.

"What?" His voice was cold.

She reached out to grab onto his arm but he took a step back, out of her grip. Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion before her hand dropped lamely back to her side.

"Can we talk?"

His head turned back to Flak who nodded and left towards his tent. When his gaze returned to Dolly, she flinched. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, I found out some disturbing news from one of my lab partners," she said slowly. "I have an intern named Clive. He's been nothing but sweet and-"

"Get to the point."

Dolly felt her anger flare up, her eyebrow twitching in irritation. "Okay, then. He's lying to me about where he's been going. He's supposed to have been helping the team at the Jefferson Memorial but the team reports he hasn't been there in quite some time. Clive has had access to medical and scientific files and I'm worried he's leaking information to someone."

"What importance do your files hold? What could be leaked that would be detrimental to my city?"

He was cold, calculating. Not once had he acted like the android he was until this very moment. Something shifted in her and she became uneasy.

"Look, I just need you to let me know when he comes back to the city. Detain him for questioning."

"I don't have the time and resources for your frivolous witch hunt, Dr. Murdoch." His words were impassive but she couldn't help but feel hurt.

"What the hell is your problem?" She spat, rubbing her temples in exasperation.

"My problem," he started, his voice booming in the crowded marketplace. People turned to see the commotion but he quieted down, bringing his face close to hers. "You're my problem, Dolly."

"I don't understand..." her voice trailed off as she stared into his accusing blue eyes. "What did I do?"

"Don't act like you don't know," he shook his head. "You're not innocent, stop acting like it."

"I- what?" She sputtered, confused. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Harkness brought his face a bit closer. They were only an inch apart and she could feel the heat of his breath on her cheeks, "Why couldn't you just tell me, hm? Why did you keep _him_ a secret?"

Realization struck her so hard she took a step back, putting some space between them. He was talking about Butch. Dr. Preston must have let it slip that he had caught them together. She made a mental note to go kick his ass later... or maybe just hassle him out of a box of stimpaks.

She stared defiantly at her friend, "I didn't keep him a secret. It just happened, okay?"

"I look like a damn fool," he raised his voice again. "Fawning over you for two goddamn years only to finally get a chance. Then, all the sudden, you ignore me for almost two weeks. I may be an android but I still have emotions."

"Look, Harkness-"

"No! Let me finish."

She glared at him silently.

He took a few staggering breaths, trying to calm himself down. "What happened? What changed?"

Her viridian eyes regarded him sadly, "People change, Harkness. My dad died and I changed. Then I went back to the vault to help Amata and... I don't know."

"If you didn't feel anything for me, why did you sleep with me?"

This was her chance to be honest. To get everything out on the table. She had been feeding him lies from the tablecloth since that fateful night they spent together. She at least owed him the truth. She brought her fingers up to her mouth and began to chew at the nail beds, nervousness rendering her mute. Never in a million years did she expect to go back to the vault and fall for her childhood bully. Since she had left that day two years ago, he hadn't crossed her mind. But then she went back and he was so kind, so sincere. Something had changed in him. The wall that he had built up around him, all those years he spent pushing people around to make himself feel better... he matured out of that. She saw who Butch DeLoria really was and she liked it. A lot.

"The night I went back to the vault," she began, her voice strained, "Butch came to my room. He brought me some soda and then made us dinner. He was so different than I remember. We spent all night talking and telling stories, and I fell asleep on his shoulder. When things were tough down there, he was at my side to comfort me in his own, rude way. But he was there, unwavering, and it meant so much to me. After that night together, things just fell into place."

She looked up and saw Harkness staring back at her expectantly, but he didn't push her to get to the point. Maybe he could see that she was serious this time. This wasn't some bullshit excuse to get him off her back.

"I cried when I left, because I couldn't bring him with me. I knew he was safer in the vault so I put my selfishness aside and forced him to stay," she continued. "I went back to Megaton and I was lonely, listless. I decided to come here and work on the water purifier to get my mind off of things. Then I got drunk and you were there... you were so nice and funny. I needed someone to hold on to. I shouldn't have used you like I did, but I wasn't thinking."

"So you're saying you used me," he stated slowly, "because you missed him?"

"No," she laughed bitterly. "I slept with you because I knew how you felt about me, that if we spent the night together you'd treat me right... I couldn't bear to be alone anymore, Harkness. It was killing me."

Dolly fought back a wave of oncoming tears. Harkness was quiet for a moment, and she knew he was deep in thought. Her reasoning sounded so jumbled and didn't make sense when she said it aloud; but it made sense in her mind. Olive met azure and she silently pleaded, hoping that he would understand. Part of her accepted that he might be too hurt, rightly so, to get where she was coming from, to see everything from her perspective.

"You had no right," he spoke, his voice deep and laden with hurt, "to use me like that. You took advantage of my feelings for you, and for what? So you could feel better about yourself? We're all looking for meaning in this fucked up, desolate world... but you didn't have to use me like you did."

"I know," her eyes fell to the floor. "I'm so-"

"Don't. Don't apologize anymore, it means nothing to me."

Dolly went to open her mouth but Harkness put his hand up, signaling for her to stop. She grit her teeth together, fighting down the urge to argue. Maybe if she explained it more, he would get it and they could be friends like they used to. She stared up at her friend, watching his face sink from anger to impassiveness. Hurt burrowed into her chest and she felt sick. This wasn't her. She didn't use people for her own personal gain, and then toss them aside as if they were trash. She stretched her hand out, with reluctance, and rested it on his forearm. His azure eyes snapped to her face, shimmering with anger. Without hesitation, she withdrew her hand, worrying that he may bite off a few fingers. Acceptance settled in, and she understood that she royally fucked up. Things would never be the same between her and Harkness. And if they were ever able to mend the broken bond between them, it would start by leaving each other alone to heal. Harkness turned his back to her and walked towards Flak & Shrapnel's tent, waving to his buddies as he went.

Dolly let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding and walked towards the stairs on the opposite side of the tent. Her mind began to wander and her feet were carrying her throughout the ship. Before she knew it, she had stopped in front of the clinic. Dr. Preston was sitting as his desk, per usual, and fiddling with a stimpak. It was attached to something, like an arm band, and it was a bit bigger. Undoubtedly, it was one of Dr. Preston's new medical inventions. He heard her entrance and looked up to her, his big brown eyes wide in confusion.

"Can I help you, Dr. Murdoch?"

"I..." she started, her gaze wandering towards the patient's quarters.

The doctor nodded in understanding. "Ah, yes. Feel free to visit your little... friend. It's not visiting hours yet but, technically you are his physician. He's knocked out at the moment, he had a pretty big episode earlier this morning."

Instantly her eyes snapped to Dr. Preston, concern gripping at her heart. "Is he okay? What happened?"

"I was checking on his stitches when he tried to punch me," he sighed. "He started spouting something about not hurting him, and after I saw the glazed over look in his eyes, I knew he was having a PTSD flashback."

"Oh, no." Dolly felt her heart clench again. The raiders had kept him in their compound for over a day, just beating him senseless. He came into the wastes with no experience and full of hope, only to be smashed to bits by some cold hearted fucks just looking to hurt for the sake of hurting.

"Yes, but, it could've been worse. I remember when you first came here and told me all about your PTSD. How are you doing with that?"

Dolly's mind flashed to the time a group of raiders had kidnapped her and held her tied up for a week straight. Between moments of unconsciousness, when she was somewhat lucid, they raped her and beat her. Each of them took turns, too many to count. Then, after they left her alone long enough for the drugs to wear off, she was able to escape. She managed to take a few of them out, targeting only the men who had assaulted her. But that seemed like so many years ago. Her body ached at the memory.

"It was a long time ago," she smiled weakly. "I've moved past it."

The doctor looked at her sympathetically. "Very well then. Go visit Butch, I'm sure he'd enjoy your presence. Conscious or not."

Dolly gave Dr. Preston a feeble nod and shuffled over to the patient's quarters. The room was dark and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. The air was cool, with the soft hum of the light box echoing in the quiet metal room. From her spot near the door, she could hear Butch's soft snoring, his heart monitoring beating rhythmically. She took a few steps closer, his face coming in to view. He was wrapped up in a wool blanket, one arm tossed casually behind his head and the other draped across his chest. Shadows danced across his face, his handsome features lit up by the small light from the equipment behind him.

Her delicate fingers traced along the ridge of his jaw, the coarse stubble itching the pad of her index finger. He stirred slightly, his nose twitching as he muttered something under his breath. A smile tugged at her lips and she brushed a few stray strands of hair from his face. Her world might be crumbling around her, as it had been since the day her father died, but he was here. It seemed like some twisted form of kismet, delivering him to her when she needed someone most. They were alone, but they didn't have to be lonely.

Gently, as though not to wake him, she pulled back his wool blanket. She pressed her knee to the stiff green mat, shifting the bed beneath her weight. She wondered briefly if the mounted bed could hold them both before going for it. She curled up next to him, her face nuzzling into the warmth of his chest. The wool blanket was itchy, but she pulled it tight over the both of them. Her arm stretched out and wrapped around his waist and she pulled him close to her. At this he awoke, his dazzling blue eyes opening slowly.

Once he realized who was in his bed, he let out a happy grunt and stretched his limbs outwards and rolled to face the wall. His back was to her now, but she didn't mind. She rather liked being the big spoon. She arched her body along his back and hugged his waist, her small hand finding the flat plane of his chest. His heart was beating frantically against the palm of her hand. It was amusing, that she made him nervous like that. With a small smile, nuzzling her face into the side of his neck, inhaling his scent. She placed small, chaste kisses against his skin, relishing as his skin prickled with goosebumps at her touch. A rough laugh rumbled through his chest and she continued to kiss him, enjoying the taste of his skin beneath her lips.

"Couldn't resist the Butch-man, huh Doll face?" His comment was dripping with cockiness. "I don't blame ya. Ladies looooove the Butch-man."

"I don't recall seeing any other ladies tripping over themselves to get to you," she quipped.

"Yeah I know," he said softly, his hand wandering up to hers. "Seems like you're the only one, sweet cheeks. You're in luck."

A few moments ticked by in silence. For some reason, she felt tears began to slip from her eyes. It was a mixture of happiness and hope. Her body trembled and she squeezed the man next to her.  
"What's wrong now?"

"Nothing is wrong," she laughed, her voice cracking as she continued to cry.

Butch rolled over to meet her, concern written all over his face. "You always cry when ya see me. I'm startin' to think I smell or somethin'."

"Sometimes you smell, yeah," she brought her hand to his cheek, "but right now you smell just fine. I'm just... happy."

Butch's eyes were a deep, dazzling blue and she felt her stomach flutter. Within those depths she saw compassion and empathy, much like the night she left the vault. He pulled her into him, tucking her head beneath his chin. Her body continued to tremble and he held onto her as if she might fly away. Tears soaked into the collar of his dingy white t-shirt, but he didn't seem to mind. The good thing about Butch was that he never pried or pestered. He just accepted her feelings at face value and was there to comfort her. He had seen her cry more times than anyone else in her life, but she didn't feel ashamed by it. Not like she used to. She vaguely remembered getting punched in the nose and then called a "crybaby" as her eyes watered and she sobbed to her father. Butch had meant to punch Freddy but Dolly jumped in between them, taking the blow. When she went to tell her dad, Butch made her feel awful for crying and bullied her relentlessly for the next few days. But now... he's not the boy he used to be. As he sat there, tangling his fingers through her messy auburn hair and comforting her, she realized how much trouble she was in. She was falling, and hard. It was dangerous to get attached in the wasteland, since living into your later years was not guaranteed. She shook her head to banish the thought.

"Does the Butch-man need to beat someone up?" He said in a playful tone.

"No, Butch," she lightly smacked his arm. "I told you, I'm just happy."

She could tell he didn't believe her. Happy people didn't cry at the drop of the hat and for no good reason. Butch's finger moved to her chin and he tilted her face to him. Just looking at him made her stomach twist and she found herself fighting the desire to bury her face and hide the growing blush. Butch's mouth opened for a fraction, as if he were going to say something, but closed his mouth soon after. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt with anticipation. Jade eyes traveled to his plump lips and she found herself overwhelmed with the urge kiss him. But he beat her to it.

Butch pressed his mouth to hers, delicately at first. She groaned against his lips as he kissed her more deeply, the palm of his hand cradling her face. More tears streamed down her cheeks and Butch hurriedly brushed them away, like he always did. Most of the time, when she would kiss someone, she felt like something was missing. But as Butch coaxed her mouth open and made her shudder, she knew that there was nothing missing. Their lips fit together like long lost puzzle pieces and just felt so damn right. His hand dipped to her waist and he pulled up the hem of her shirt, letting his hand explore the soft expanse of her toned stomach.

"Shirt. Pants. Off," he mumbled against her lips, "_Now_."

She let out a laugh, but the voice that escaped her was not one familiarity. It was low and smooth like velvet, dripping with sexuality. "We can't do this, not here."

Butch tugged at her shirt, lifting it over her head with a low growl, "Tough shit."

The scenario was oddly reminiscent of a dream she had, had not too long ago. As her shirt and pants tumbled to the floor, he took in the site of her in all her naked glory. Her breasts were perky and round and full, but not too big. His hands wandered and groped the soft tissue, relishing in the silky feel of her skin. Dolly stared down at him, her heart racing so quickly she was sure he could he could feel it. The pads of his fingers were rough and he ran them over her budding nipples, and he watched in intrigue as they puckered beneath his touch. He brought himself up and took one into his mouth, sucking gently at the sensitive organ. Her skin seared beneath his mouth, a sensation unlike any she had before. Each time he ran his tongue over her, rewarding him a mewl of satisfaction.

With trepidation and gentle consideration, she moved to pull off his shirt. The thin fabric slid away from his form and she sucked in a breath, her eyes eating him up. His body was tone and hard, the flat planes of his stomach rippling as his muscles stretched. His fingers lowered to the warmth between her legs and a breath hitched in her throat. His fingers moved in slow, concise circles. A noise escaped her throat and she arched into him. Two fingers slid into her and she clenched around the invading appendages with growing need. His fingers retracted, slick with her arousal, and went to rub the nub of her sex.

The front of his boxers quickly became drenched and she felt him stiffen, his groin throbbing and twitching against her core. She swayed her hips, grinding against him with. Butch grabbed her hips and halted her ministrations, his teeth gritting against his bottom lip. His cerulean eyes looked up to her and she smiled at the sparkle of mischief held within those depths. He wanted to do this his way. It appeared as though Butch was a little bit of a dominant figure in the bedroom. Before she knew it, Butch had her flipped onto her back, and she squealed in delight.

He took himself into his hand and poised it at her entrance, running his head against her wet folds. He rolled his hips and pushed, and he was in her, filling her. She wasn't thinking much anymore, consumed by pleasure. Gripping her hips, he slid in another couple of inches, and she dug her nails into his shoulders with a hiss. He started to move his hips again, pulling out, pushing in, his breathing deepening. Oh God, she felt her composure start to burst at the seems. She made a startled noise at the back of her throat, clutching at him as he worked inside her. It was too much. She thrust up with her hips, matching his pace, feeling her end was closing in. With one final pump, he threw her over the edge, and she felt an explosion. Stars burst behind her eyes as she spiraled downwards into her finish, her body electrifying and burning all at once.

A moan tore through his chest and he shook all over as he started to pulse. She knew he was close. She worked her inner muscles and rocked him through his climax. He turned his face into her neck and nipped at her skin, working through the aftershock with slow, steady pumps. His release leaked down her thigh and she sighed in contentment with Butch collapsing above her. They sat in the afterglow, glistening in the cold sweat of their desire.

It hadn't lasted long but she preferred it that way. She found it strange when men would brag about lasting two hours. It seemed pointless, as by then she was always sore and just too tired to finish. Her past sexual experiences never dazzled her but, they sufficed. She usually got hers before the actual deed began. But with Butch... it felt like her senses were heightened, and her nerves were on fire every time he touched her. Shit. Was this what sex was supposed to be like? Then all of her previous partners had been doing her wrong, pun intended. His arms circled her and he hugged her to him. It wasn't long before she felt her eyelids sinking and she fought to keep them open. Butch's breathing had slowed down and he started to snore softly. She pulled the wool blanket up to her chest and curled up against him.

She knew she should be out looking for Clive and confronting him on his lies, but... she was sure it could wait.

* * *

**A/N: PHEW. So, that was a lot to take in, huh? I promised you guys smut, and behold, I granteth you smut. I'm sorry if the sexy time was a little awkward. I haven't written a sex scene in ages, but this was good practice. I was planning on waiting a while before they finally got busy, but the timing just felt right. The plot will start to pick up quickly after this. **

**Please, R&R! I greatly appreciate it. **


	8. On The Road Again

**Two updates in a row, I'm on a roll! *I guess the document I uploaded was not my finished product, so I have edited it and there is bit more story towards the bottom.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eight:**  
"On The Road Again"

* * *

Sun glittered through darkened clouds as the wind blew across the shore. A gaggle of baby mirelurks jostled and taunted one another, frolicking in the murky green water. Every now and then, a wave would crash upon the slanted shoreline, close to where her feet were dangling over the railing of the hangar deck. Her hair fluttered around her face and she inhaled deeply, savoring the salty smell in the air. Her olive eyes studied the jagged Washington skyline, momentarily mesmerized by the outstanding beauty of the city around her. She could only imagine what the city looked like before the war, and she felt a bit disappointed that she would never be able to see it refurbished to its original glory. Her hand wandered aimlessly at her side until she found her drink, bringing the tepid soda to her mouth. Eyes flickered to her pipboy as she checked the time, realizing that it was still fairly early in the day. Her fingers found the nob as she tuned in to GNR. Three Dog's voice filled the empty air, his familiar howl thrumming against her ear.

"_... and where is our hero, now? Probably holed up in her fucking safe haven, that giant metal metropolis Rivet City, while the rest of us still struggle for a goddamn drink of water. Where are you, kid, when we need you most? Or have you given up?" _

She let out a growl and switched off her pipboy. The beverage in her hand seemed heavier than she remembered, and she gazed down at the half empty bottle with resentment. Who was he to declare her mother and saint of the wastes? As if she had a duty to dedicate the rest of her life to cleaning up everyone else's messes. Hadn't she done enough? The wastes had sucked her in, chewed her up a bit, and spit her out. But now the taste of her was on their pallet and they were craving more. Always more. That god forsaken shit hole had already stolen her father. And still, after all she suffered, she helped to disarm the Enclave and even reestablish a steady supply of clean water. Cleaner crops had started to grow and flourish, people weren't getting sick off the irradiated water, and everyone was happy overall. But now... now, the purifier was on the fritz and she wasn't quite sure how to fix it. Couldn't they comprehend that she was trying to help, but in her own way and on her own terms?

Her limbs began to tremble with unbidden rage and she felt her composure slowly start to crumble. Another growl ripped from her throat as she chucked her soda at full force towards the water's edge. It wasn't long until it met with an obstacle, knocking against one of the young mirelurks. It let out a screech and scuttled along back into the murky green depths of the Washington Naval Yard. A part of her felt a bit of joy at knocking the thing against it's shell, but that soon passed. As did her anger. A sigh escaped her and she deflated against the railing, resting her chin against the rusting metal. Her eyes wandered back to her pipboy as she flipped through the categories, finding her small list of to-dos. At the very top were coordinates, ones she had forgotten about in the past two weeks. They stared back at her challengingly and she swallowed. It was just a random recorder with a message offering help, but fr some reason it seemed so daunting. Maybe it was the threat of the unknown, she wasn't quite sure.

The wind whipped against her face and she shivered, pulling the collar of her leather jacket higher up to guard her face. It was times like these, where she had nothing of great importance to attend to aside from research, the she wished her father was here. In the year without him, she had come to learn that she, too, was a wastelander. That she wasn't some sharp pedigree born from the vault, but rather a mutt from a family who had somehow survived doomsday. Yet, she felt like she didn't belong here. She didn't belong in the vault, either, but especially not out here in the desolate wasteland. Although some might disagree with her sentiments, seeing as she picked up being a wasteland doctor and scientist quickly enough. And she had learned the ways of fighting and stealing in order to survive... but anyone could achieve that. Her father did. Her mother did. So did millions of others.

But as she sat, staring at the shadowy skyline, she wished she could've saved him. That he could be here with her, working to create portable water filtration systems. Her chest heaved violently and she felt a storm stirring within her chest. All she had in this world, taken away. How could Three Dog expect her to continue her vigilante lifestyle when her only inspiration, her only goal, was stripped away from her? She sucked in a shaky breath at the memory of her father, his hand pressing to the glass, begging her to run. All she could do was watch as her father choked for air, his insides curdling, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Her vision began to blur and she felt the familiar hopeless feeling settle behind her sternum. Her heart ached for someone that could never be with her again. Tears shook her and she let them fall freely, unguarded. The tears she cried today were nothing to be ashamed of, and there was no reason to hide her face.

She wiped at her cheeks with her sleeves, taking a deep breath through her stuffy nose. After a few moments to collect herself, she stood, kicking the remnants of her lunch over the deck. Her own way of apologizing to the mirelurk she had offended not too long ago. As she walked towards the Muddy Rudder for a drink, she couldn't help the nagging voice at the back of her head. She flipped her pipboy open and checked the coordinates again. At this point, her research had become futile. Nothing arose that would be a prime option for her portable water filter and she was at a loss. All she had been working towards seemed to crumble around her and she couldn't help the listlessness that encased her heart. Maybe the offer to help her was genuine and, maybe, they had ideas that she could bounce off of and work with. Science was all about community and peer review. She swallowed her pride and turned the corner. The entrance to the bar was only a few feet away, with a familiar person guarding the front entrance.

His chestnut hair was perfectly quaffed and a familiar cigarette dangled from his lips. He was widdling away at a block of petrified wood with his trusty switchblade. As he heard her approaching he looked up, a crooked smile spreading across his face.

"Well if it isn't my best gal," he said, flipping his head back as she came closer. She was a foot away when she came to a stop, regarding him with a stoic stare. "Nice threads, sweet cheeks. Miss me so much you had to bring out Butchie's ol' jacket just to feel better?"

She slapped his hand away, letting out a huff. "It's a bit cold today and this is this is the only jacket I have."

As she went to walk away, Butch grabbed at her arm, yanking her to stand in front of him. "What's wrong... you still mad at the Butch-man?"

"Hell, yes, I'm mad at you!" She let out a huff, pulling her arm out of his grip, "You take my favorite rifle and a few _hundred_ caps and sneak off, then wonder why I'm so pissed? It's been a week, you bastard!"

"Aw, come on, Doll. You know I wouldn't leave my best gal flyin' solo if I didn't have a good reason," he smirked.

He rummaged around in the pocket of his leather jacket until his hand landed on something. A soft, 'a-ha!' left his lips as he pulled out a small cloth bag. He tossed it back and forth between his hands and she noted the metallic jingling as the contents bounced against each other. Her patience began to dwindle and she crossed her arms, tapping her foot in annoyance. With one more toss, he threw the bag in her direction and she caught it swiftly. The bag was made of a deep, purple velvet and was tied closed at the top with yellow rope. A small coat of arms was stitched towards the bottom and she idly wondered what this was used for so many years ago. She untied the top and peered inside.

She was unimpressed. "These are the caps you stole from me."

"Borrowed without askin'," he corrected. At that, she rolled her eyes and went to pocket the money. "What, you're not gonna look around? Make sure all the money is there?"

"I know you're not bright, but you're not stupid. You wouldn't cheat me out of my own money."

"Well," he said, pushing himself away from his relaxed position against the wall, "I think that ya need to count all them bottlecaps."

"I don't think it's necessary."

"Do it for me, Doll face? Please?"

At the use of her pet name, she felt her urge to resist him dissipate. With a deep sigh she walked over to one of the end tables near the entrance to the bar. There was a tarnished white couch sitting beside it and Butch plopped down with a grunt, one boot propped up against his knee. She turned the bag over in her hands and emptied the contents out onto the end table. She began to count the caps until her finger caught onto something, a chain, maybe? It glinted against the dull lighting of the foyer and she found herself more than curious. She threw a glance to Butch who just shrugged, a large, goofy grin swallowing his handsome features. Her eyes wandered back to the pile and she picked at the chain. As the item surfaced, dragging along a few caps, she let out a gasp. Attached to the chain was a small pear shaped gem. It was a bit hazy and the chain was beginning to rust where the links connected, but it was as beautiful as a trinket could get in the wasteland.

She cradled the necklace in her palm, staring intently at the blood red gem at the bottom, "Where did you find this?"

"Well," he started, puffing out his chest. "I snuck down to that bar by The Citadel and tried my hand at some poker. I guess I'm pretty damn good at it, 'cause those Brotherhood jerks ran out of caps to fork over. Only, the problem was, they still owed me quite a bit. One of them offered up this pretty little trinket and I thought, 'Hey, this would be great for my gal!'"

"I'm not your gal," she breathed, "I'm nobody's gal."

A few moments ticked by in silence as she continued to study the gem. It wasn't everyday that someone presented her with jewelry. In fact, it never happened. The only gifts she ever received were either ones related to science and medicine, or if she was super lucky, a newly repaired gun. She never saw herself as the feminine type, as her work rarely called for her to put on a dress and go out for a fancy meal. But, to her horror, she felt herself rather... flattered at being treated like a lady. She could feel Butch's eyes on her face and she threw him another glance. Yes, she definitely was pleased with this gift, but she didn't want to show Butch that. If she did, he'd think it okay to sneak off with her money and gamble, _as long_ as he came back with something for her.

"Aw, come on' nosebleed, you can't still be mad at me," Butch waved his arms around in frustration, pointing at the dainty necklace in her hand, "I brought ya jewelery. Everyone tells me how much broads like jewelry."

She felt her feathers ruffle at the usage of his old insult for her. As she pushed down the urge to slit his throat, her fingers clutched around the necklace. "It's going to take more than this for me to forgive you."

"I don't believe ya," he said, standing. He shuffled over to her and closed the gap, pressing a hand to the small of her back. The other hooked around her wrist and he brought his mouth to her ear, his breath provoking a shiver.

His lips planted a chaste kiss against her neck and she melted into a gooey, depressing puddle on the grated metal floor. It was incredibly pathetic that all it took was a caress and a kiss to turn her into a festering pile of hormones, but Butch just had that way about him. Even though, she couldn't forgive him for stealing her money just yet. The night she came back to her room and found some caps missing along with her favorite gun, she may or may not have thrown a giant hissy fit and broken a few chairs in the Muddy Rudder. Belle was still holding that over her head, but everyone knew she was good for it. Butch's hand snaked down to take a firm hold of her butt. He gave it a light slap and she let out an indignant squeal, pushing him away.

"Oh, Butch, you smarmy bastard," she felt the heat of a blush sneak across her cheeks.

Butch was dripping with satisfaction and he let out a low, raspy chuckle. "Don't pretend you don't like it, Doll."

Butch moved back in, closing the gap between them for a second time, and grabbed the necklace from her hand, gently commanding her to turn around. She heard him unclasp the small chain and moved some hair away from her nape. He hooked his arms over her and pulled the necklace tight across her neck. His breath cascaded down her spine and she had to suppress another shiver. After a few moments of fiddling, Butch had manged to get the clasp closed. She turned back around to be met with Butch's gentle blue eyes and he sucked in a breath. He brought his hand to the blood red jewel settled above her collarbone and ran his thumb over it.

"It was made for ya," he said, his voice low and hushed. Those words did funny things to her insides and she twiddled her fingers nervously, before bringing her hand up to poke him hard in the chest.

"You're still not off the hook, asshole. Where's my rifle?"

At this, Butch threw a nonchalant hand behind his head and shrugged. "Well... I got into a fight and it... kinda broke. But don't worry! It's being fixed by Flak right now."

She pinched his chin between her forefinger and thumb and gave his head a little shake, "You're lucky you're so handsome, otherwise I would've killed you already."

"Ya know, I get that a lot."

"No, you don't."

Dolly began to head towards the bar to quench her thirst and Butch followed closely behind her. The bar was hazy with smoke as the usual barflies gathered towards the back. A small radio flickered and hummed, the familiar voice of Billy Holiday filling the room with her sultry, bluesy voice. Belle was bartending, per usual, and she nodded towards the pair as they entered.

"It's cute that you two are matching," she said sweetly as Dolly and Butch took a seat.

"Not intentional, I assure you," Dolly snorted as she looked over to her partner.

They ordered their usual poison and Belle turned away to go chill some glasses. Butch was fiddling with something above his eyebrow. She gazed at him, soaking him in. The bruises from his scuffle with the raiders was still evident, although it had faded to a light yellow with specks of blue. There was a small scar running along the length of his cheekbone where Dr. Preston had to insert the steel plate to reconstruct the bottom of his eye orbit. His usual vault suit was gone, replaced with a familiar white cotton t-shirt and a pair of dingy jeans. Over his shirt he wore a bullet proof vest, most likely lifted off of one of the Rivet City guards, and his usual Tunnel Snakes leather jacket. A 10mm stuck out from a holster at his thigh and she conceded that he was more attractive now than ever. But she said that every time she saw him. She'd never repeat that to him, though, lest his ego grow even more. At least not seriously. She always told him how good looking he was, but it was always in jest and usually a way for her to get him to do a favor. Butch hastily pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it up, taking a deep drag. Belle slammed down their drinks and Butch tossed his back, letting out a low grumble as he set the glass back down on the metal bar surface. Dolly nursed her drink, finding herself too on edge to get plastered. She pulled open her pipboy and stared at the mysterious coordinates. A marker had been set since day one but she never bothered to follow through. Wherever this place was, it was nestled a good three miles behind Vault 101. It would be quite the journey, but she couldn't help but wonder 'what if?'

She felt Butch's eyes on her but refused to look up, "Whatcha lookin' at?"

"It's nothing," she said under her breath, bringing the glass to her mouth once again.

"Doesn't look like nothin'," he said. When she refused to answer, he dropped it, ordering another glass of scotch on the rocks.

"Hey hun," Belle piped up, "where's that green haired fella that used to follow you around?"

Dolly bristled at the mention of her former intern, "I'm not quite sure, actually. He disappeared a week or so ago and never came back. Good riddance."

"A shame, actually," Belle sighed as she polished a mug. "He was one of my best customers. He was a bit odd, kind of shy, but he sat here for about four hours a night getting sloshed."

"Yeah, well, he lied to my face and then up and disappeared. He's as good as dead in my book," she said bitterly, staring into her drink.

"Woah easy there tiger," Butch's said in a surprised tone, "that's a bit harsh, dontcha think?"

"I have no room in my life for liars, especially ones who start out as a good friend and then quickly turn into a disappointment. It's a bad show of character. A man who doesn't keep to his word is a coward and... and-"

"Okay, okay, we get it. He sucks, sheesh," Belle rolled her eyes and hung the clean glass up on a hook behind the bar. "What did he do to get on your bad side?"

"He... lied to me about where he was going. I also found out that he had been lifting my private files and recordings. All the files were centered around this new thing that I'm working on and I trusted him with it. He even helped me to develop a certain mechanism that would help this new invention to function."

Her two companions grew quiet and exchanged a look. Dolly ignored them as she continued to brood and sip on her drink. The screen holding the coordinates was still up and her gaze kept wandering to it. She wasn't quite sure why it was bothering her so much, but it did. She had been itching to get back out into the wastes, which was surprising as she had seen enough adventure in the two years that she had been out here. Maybe hunting down these mystery helpers could be her excuse to get back out there. Besides, her project wasn't going to advance further unless she acquired the help of others. Then, a thought struck her.

"So Butch," she blurted out, "still want to start that gang?"

He looked up at her, his brilliant cerulean eyes wide with incredulity, "Hell yeah, I do! I could be out there kickin' ass in my own gang and everything. The Tunnel Snakes could ride again!" He paused, "Or y'know, slither again. Whatever."

She rolled her glass with her hand, watching the contents splash and churn, "Well... you could tag along with me, if you'd like. I think we'd make a good gang."

Holy hell, did she hear herself? Partner up with Butch DeLoria, the man who cared more about his hair than his grades? Okay, she was going out of her mind. Since that night in the clinic, they rarely brought up their little liaison, which suited her just fine. The next morning she had snuck off, like she usually does, and avoided him for the rest of the day. That was, until he was discharged and came to find her. Things had picked up right where they left off and their relationship hadn't changed, which mainly consisted of heavy flirting and insults, maybe a few pecks here and there (always unsolicited on her part). It was as if that night in the clinic had never happened. He still made her nervous and she found herself giddy around him, which was odd. They had completed the most intimate act two people could together and yet she still wasn't sure how to be around him, or what they even were to one another. He brought her back a necklace but she didn't want to read too much into it, as it might've just been a present of opportunity; a chance to butter her up so he wasn't in trouble. That was highly more likely than a thoughtful present.

They had grown closer, that's for sure, but she still wasn't sure in his capabilities as a fighter. He had barely survived the trek between here and Megaton, so she gave it two more weeks before he wound up dead in a ditch somewhere. Probably killed by some loan sharks, by the way things were looking. Still, he was better than her other options, which currently was between him and a mercenary named Jericho back in Megaton. And she really did not like that man, but he was cheap to hire and he was decent with a gun.

It was a long while before Butch worked up an answer, but he finally spoke up and drew her from her mental revery.

"Eh I don't know Doll..." he said, unsure. His eyes seemed to lock onto her jacket and he brought a finger out to trace the line of studs in the collar. "Why'd ya keep that thing, after all these years?"

"Believe it or not," she said shyly, fiddling with a loose thread on the sleeve. She swallowed and considered how to word what was bouncing around in her mind. "But those first few days on my own, your jacket was really... I don't know, comforting."

Butch's face softened. A hand came to land on her forearm and she looked up at him abashedly. His expression was kind and a ghost of a smirk splayed across his lips. As the dim lamps flickered against the walls, glimmers of light danced against his face. His brilliant eyes seemed to glow and he let out an attractive, raspy laugh. As his lips tightened into a grin she noticed, with horror, that he had a dimple. An adorable dimple right above the corner of his mouth. How hadn't she noticed that before? At once her heart began thump wildly. She was never good with this kind of thing, and the prospect of traveling with a lover (or whatever) was daunting.

"You know, on second thought," he whispered, his perfectly shaped lips forming the words in a manner more seductive than she expected. "You'd be perfect for my gang."

Dolly was horrified at how shaky she felt when he smiled at her like that. As she opened her mouth to respond she froze, her eyes watching as someone entered the bar. Harkness strolled in nonchalantly, his eyes briefly catching with hers before he continued to the back of the room. Things still hadn't cooled down between them. Harkness was a good man but he was notorious for holding grudges, a trait she found odd in an android. Butch followed her line of site and then looked back to her.

"What's up with you and him?"

"What, uh, what do you mean?" She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Doll," he gave her a low, raspy laugh. She felt herself melt a little. "I ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even I could tell that something just isn't right."

"I don't think that's how the saying goes."

"Was he your boy-toy before... you know?"

Dolly snorted, "God no." Smooth, that was convincing. Under Butch's scrupulous glare she couldn't help but blush. Butch was as moronic as the came, but sometimes she could see this flicker of intelligence, like she was seeing now. As if he knew the truth and was bringing it up just to see if she would lie or come clean.

"Hn," he grunted, unconvinced.

"What?"

"I don't believe ya."

Her face grew hot and she crossed her arms over her chest, "What does it matter to you, anyways?"

Out of the corner of her eyes she watched Butch put out his cigarette and lean back, his face blank. "I just didn't think ya would be able to attract anyone. Just surprised, I suppose."

"Excuse me? You were singing a different tune the other night when..." her gaze wandered back to Belle who was looking at her expectantly, like she was about to spill the juiciest gossip, "... never mind."

It was Butch's turn to snort, "Don't get defensive, nosebleed."

"Well it's none of your business," she answered in a huff. She may have slept with Butch, but that didn't mean she was obligated to tell him about her prior fancies. Especially Harkness, which was still a sensitive subject as far as she was concerned.

"He seems like a stiff," Butch shrugged, a bit more agitated than before. "Every time I see him he glares at me like I'm about to loot the place."

"You probably were," she laughed lightly, trying to lighten the mood. "Listen, I know it seems pretty strange for me to ask you to tag along on some grand adventure, but I have something I need to do. It's a bit of a travel and I need someone else to come with me, just in case."

"Alright, where we goin'?"

"There's these coordinates I received a while back from an anonymous source," she pulled up her map to show Butch where the coordinates lead to. "The coordinates came with a tape recorder which had a voice saying they could help me with something. I never followed through because I assumed it was a dead end, but I'm desperate. I'm a standstill with my research and I think- I think maybe this might be a sign."

"Are you outta your damn mind? Why would you listen to a random person? I'm new to the way things work around here, but even I know that ya can't trust people as far as you can throw 'em."

Dolly placed a gentle hand on his forearm, "Please, Butch-man? I don't have anyone else to travel with me. I don't want to do this alone, just in case these people are bad news. I'm going to need you by my side to protect me."

"We all know you can protect yourself," an unflattering snort came out of him, "but I'll take the compliment. When do ya want to leave?"

She hopped up excitedly and threw her arms around Butch, "Oh! Thank you! I'm thinking we can leave tomorrow morning, get a head start. We can go down to Flak & Shrapnel and pick up supplies, maybe get some better equipment for the journey."

"Eh, don't mention it Doll face."

Without thinking, Dolly pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. Belle let out an incredulous gasp beside her. When she looked up, Belle had her mouth slightly agape and was glancing back between the greaser and her. Dolly really did not feel like having this conversation, especially when she didn't know what things were between her and Butch. She dug around her pack and found a few caps, slamming them down on the counter enthusiastically. Dolly hooked her arm into the crook of Butch's elbow and dragged him away from the bar stool, waving a farewell to Belle, who was left looking very confused. She didn't mind, that could be taken care of later. But for now, she had a trip to prepare for.

* * *

"This bag is so goddamn heavy! Why you gotta make me carry all the heavy shit?"

"Because I am a lady, and it's your job as my companion to carry stuff that I am otherwise incapable of holding," she said sweetly.

Butch threw the bag to the ground, "Bullshit, you ain't no lady!"

"I take offense to that," she huffed, coming to a halt beside Butch. They hadn't traveled more than three miles before Butch made his first pit stop, needing a break. They still had a maze of giant ant infested metros to work their way through, and she wanted to get this mystery location as fast as possible. Butch was hunched over with a hand gripped over his right shoulder, giving it a thorough rub down. Before they left, she bought Butch some leather armor which had been dyed black, a new edition from Shrapnel himself. Instead of a thank you, all Butch did was complain about how heavy the leather cuirass felt and how hot he was, but he adamantly refused to remove his Tunnel Snakes jacket. His reasoning was, 'how else would people know we're a gang?' She rolled her eyes at the memory.

"Marigold Station is not too far off" she said as she crouched next to him, pointing toward the west. "Think you can make it?"

"Ah, hell, I ain't no wimp," the bag went flying over his shoulder and he wobbled on his feet, trying to find his center of gravity and balance. "I can go as far as you need me to, alright?"

Dolly smirked but remained silent. Her own bag was pretty heavy as well, but she had grown accustom to it after lugging it around for so long. It took two hours to reach the station and they had, had a fairly easy time. They only had to kill two radscorpions and Butch almost had a heart attack when he first saw a mole rat. Apparently the Butch-man was afraid of rodents, which she found fucking hilarious. There was something about Butch's behavior that was a bit off, though. He wasn't as confident or cocky, in fact he seemed down right uncomfortable. Once they reached the safety of Marigold Station, Butch seemed to relax a bit. As they entered, a low, guttural growl reverberated off the disparaging and dingy tile walls of the station. Her companion looked to her with unease but she signaled for him to stay put while she went to scope it out.

She knew it was nothing more than a few feral ghouls, which were harmless. As she entered the main tunnel, a ghoul was behind a bench and gnawing on the remnants of a rather large sewer rat. It became aware of her presence and swirled around, claws at the ready. Without expending any energy, she raised the barrel of her assault rifle and fired three shots to its head. The creature dropped like a sack of rocks and she swiveled her barrel to focus on the other two that were pattering up the stairs and towards her location. A few more shots and the creatures crumbled to floor, their heads splattering in Rorschach-esque patterns along the dusty floor. She rummaged through their pockets and found some bottlecaps, which she hastily pocketed. After dragging the bodies into a pile she called out for Butch, who came skulking around the corner like a skittish animal. A laugh bubbled up from her and she slapped a hand over her mouth to abate it, but to no avail, Butch had already heard her. He straightened up and walked to her position. They were on the upper platform of the metro near an empty ticket booth and a few benches. A few abandoned fire pits were scattered about, some of them still holding wood for a nice fireplace.

She turned to Butch, who had dropped his bag on a nearby bench and was currently searching the ticket booth, "Okay, it's almost nightfall. It's time to set up camp before we continue through the tunnel. Once we get out of here, though, Grayditch is on the other side. Then our destination is only another day's travel, two tops."

"Sounds good, Doll face," he turned back to his bag and began to untie his bedroll from the back of it. Out in the open air, Butch had seemed tense and uneasy but here, in the tunnel, he seemed more at ease. The stiffness to his shoulders was gone.

After a few rounds of making sure their location was secure, Dolly returned to their mini campsite. Butch had gotten a fire going and was currently cooking a can of pork n' beans over it. A hole had been carved into the top and a little tendril of steam escaped it every few seconds.

"There's no one else out here, we should be safe for the night," she said as she plopped down onto her bedroll. Olive eyes traveled over to Butch, who was staring off into space. "You okay over there?"

He shook his head and looked at her, as if he just realized she was there, "Yeah... yeah, doin' okay."

"You know, I hate to ask," she started, crossing her legs and dragging her bag onto her lap, "but you seem far more comfortable in this tunnel then out in the wastes."

"I like spaces that aren't so..." Butch's hands gestured as if he were measuring something, "you know, open."

Dolly popped open a box of Sugar Bombs and began to chew on the dry cereal, savoring the sweet taste. It was a bit stale, but it was better than nothing. "I guess all those years in the vault has you feeling a little agoraphobic, huh?"

"I dunno what that means."

"It means you're afraid of wide open spaces which, I'm not surprised seeing as you spent most of your life cooped up in there."

"Yeah but you seem fine with all that space. I... I didn't know there could be so many stars. The only time I ever heard about 'em was when Mr. Brotch lectured about space and shit."

"I guess I didn't have time to sit and gawk at everything or contemplate the wonders of the universe," Dolly shrugged. "I had shit to do and finding my dad was more important. But... yeah, I can understand why being out in the open is daunting to you."

Butch shifted uncomfortably in his seat, leaning forward to check the can of food sitting in the fire. "That first night on my own... it wasn't so bad, but findin' a place to sleep was fucking awful, ya know? Everywhere I went I just felt so exposed. It was shitty."

The beans seemed to be done and Butch pulled them out the fire, wrapping his hand in a piece of torn cloth so he wouldn't burn his hand. Dolly patted the bedroll Butch had set up next to hers, gesturing for him to have a seat next to her. Apprehensively he obliged. He sat down next to her, placing his beans on the floor as he went to remove his boots and his cuirass. She did the same, finding it horribly uncomfortable to sleep in armor. It would be unfortunate if someone were stumble upon them vulnerable while they slept and unarmored, but she slept in plenty of random places to know when to let her guard down. Dolly watched Butch stir his beans idly with an old fork. The flames licked the open air, hungry for oxygen, and casting shadows against the far walls. The warm glow from the fire softened his features, which currently looked like a mix between a drowned mole rat and a kicked puppy.

She slid a listlessness hand up to the jewel that hung around her neck, her eyes never leaving Butch's face. Sometimes she sat back in awe and stared at the man who had reentered her life so abruptly. If someone said two years ago that she'd be not only traveling with Butch, but quite smitten with him, she'd probably laugh herself into a coma. Her free hand knotted into the thick fabric of her black pants as she felt her heart jump into her throat. Smitten. That was an odd word to toss around, especially when it was directed at the man currently sitting next to her. It was hard to shake the memories of that night. The feeling of his hands on her breasts and the way he filled her was still too fresh to forget, and she found herself growing warm at the vivid imagery that invaded her mind. Heat began to stir between her legs and she nodded her head violently to banish those wonderful, horrible memories. She felt ashamed at the arousal that was creeping up her spine and electrifying her nerves, but it was hard to shake. Her right hand continued to fiddle with the blood red jewel above her collarbone.

"Why did you get me this?" Her voice was high and squeaky and cut through the silence like a grenade.

Butch jumped at the sound of her voice, drawing him out of his own daydream. "I dunno. Does it matter why?"

"It does... to me," she said softly, "It's not like you to just randomly give presents. You've never been anything but a selfish creature, so it's just very out of the ordinary."

Butch looked up to her like a shy child, his face struggling to remain impassive. His blue eyes were deep, a reflection of the fire dancing across the sheen of his pupils. An unidentifiable emotion flashed across those glossy azure orbs of his before disappearing, and he leaned back against the leg of the bench with a slow exhale.

"I got ya a damn present, does the 'why' part of this really fuckin' matter?"

"It's just..." she caressed the stone nervously, "Jewelery in such good condition is not easy to come by. I'm sure the amount of caps that Brotherhood knight owed you was not equal in monetary worth to this."

"Can't a guy get a gift for a dame without bein' interrogated? Fuckin' Christ, Dolly. Just take the damn necklace," he gestured to her neck. "It looks fuckin' awesome on ya anyways, so drop it."

"No, you can't get a gift for... for me, just randomly. I just- I think this gives me the wrong, ugh," the words lodged in her throat. _What could she say? I think giving me this necklace is inappropriate because then I'll think you genuinely care about me?_

"Shit, if you're gonna be so dramatic then give it back," he rolled forward on his knees so that his palms met the bedroll, positioning himself on all fours. In the creepiest way possible, Butch began to shuffle, more like crawl, towards her. The sight shouldn't have weirded her out as much as it did. He got closer and she fell onto her behind, propping herself up as she leaned back. Butch went to reach for the necklace and she let out a very unattractive squeal and tried to move away from him.

"No! It's mine!"

"No, it's _mine_, I just gave it to ya on a whim ya bitch," as his hand went to reach for the necklace she caught his wrist in a vice grip. Butch grimaced and clenched his jaw as she squeezed his surprisingly thin wrist with her fingers.

Slowly, threateningly, she yanked him forward so that their noses were touching. "You call me a bitch one more time and I'll cut off your balls and cook them up and feed them to you."

"Messaged received, now can ya let go? You're hurtin' me, y'know."

After a few moments, and an extra hard squeeze for good measure, she let him go with a small shove. Butch fell back on his haunches and he glared out into the darkened metro, pouting. It was almost adorable. Almost. "It that the real reason...?"

Butch let out a long, defeated sigh. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle but stern, "Yeah, Doll, it's the only reason. Okay?"

Dolly felt an argument working its way out from her chest but bit her tongue as Butch tossed his can of beans into the trash and went to bed. Her right hand trembled as it continued to caress the gem beneath her delicate fingers, the chain cool against her hot fingertips. The desire to curl up next to him like she did so many nights ago was strong, and she trembled at the thought. It was better if they didn't get involved, and she knew that. It was stupid to get attached in this day and age, and most certainly foolish with the line of work that she got involved with. With a sigh and a heavy heart, Dolly opened her bedroll and climbed in.

* * *

Butch laid on his side for a long while and stared off into the darkness, listening to Dolly toss around her bedroll and get situated. Every now and then, the fireplace would crackle and stir him from his thoughts. Women were dumb, he conceded. Especially Dolly, who was pretty dumb for someone with such a high intelligence. He let out a huff and pulled the cover of the bedroll over his head. Butch had a lot of pride and he always admitted that it was his biggest fault, but he knew he was right on this one. She was a stand-up dame. In just two years she managed to travel all over the wastes and make a name for herself, and building up a small army of people who would die for her. All he did did for two years was mope around the vault and perfect his barbering skills.

A girl like her was just too damn smart for a guy like him- a guy who currently had a piece of petrified wood in his bag and thought he could actually widdle something out of it. A guy who managed to bully and torment, for years, the only decent woman he had ever known. A part of him wanted to claim her, and lord knows he lets it slip everyone now and then by calling her his 'best gal.' Then there was the time in the clinic when they... he couldn't finish the thought. He had been trying to banish those memories since the moment it happened, but he just couldn't. But she made his stomach do funny things and made his heart beat so irregularly he was sure he was dying.

Butch threw a glance over his shoulder and saw that Dolly had managed to fall asleep pretty damn fast. He watched as the fire danced between them, and the way the shadows caressed her face like a long lost lover. Her tawny hair had managed to fall out of her ponytail and fell around her face in smooth ringlets. Her plump pink lips were slack and a soft snore would escape it every few moments. The memory of how smooth her ivory skin felt beneath his fingers made his hands itch for more, and he clenched and unclenched his fists. How could he ever try to tame a woman like that, let alone claim her? His eyes wandered to his old jacket, which was currently draped over her shoulders. The first time he saw her in his jacket he almost keeled over and died right there. It must be a man thing, but there was just something great about seeing a woman wearing his clothes. His stomach did a flip and he silently cursed himself. The Butch-man had dug himself a pretty little grave and now he must lie in it. He was doomed.

* * *

**A/N: Hey everyone! I have a lot of ideas for where this is going, and I hope more than anything that I am piquing your interests. I was wondering how I should continue their relationship, and I realized that the way Dolly is, couple with Butch's stubborn personality, they would act like nothing had happened. Don't worry, though, that'll change real quick.  
**

**Please leave me reviews, as they keep me going and inspire me to see this through! This is my first fic and I can't thank you guys enough. It's only seven reviews so far, but they mean the world to me. Cheers! **


	9. Ghost Of You

**Hey everyone! I'm going to be updating frequently. I want to thank D0hnuts for the kind reviews, thank you. I have considered getting someone to proof read my stuff but I'm too embarrassed to ask haha. Anyways, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter Nine:  
**"Ghost of You"

_At the end of the world_  
_ Or the last thing I see_  
_ You are_  
_ Never coming home_  
_ Never coming home_

* * *

They spent the morning packing and gathering their things in silence. Dolly had stolen a few of Butch's cigarettes and snuck away to smoke them. Last night had been... well, was there even a word to describe it? Soul crushingly disappointing? Yeah, that sounded about right. She took a drag, coughing as the harsh smoke hit the back of her throat. That did not feel as good. She swallowed and made a face at how sore her throat felt. Her habit with Jet may be damaging to her body but at least it isn't as harsh on her lungs. With a click of her tongue she put out the cigarette and stared off into the quiet of the wasteland. The desert was still dark, the rolling hills and mountains casting most of the area into darkness. The sun still hadn't risen yet, but fingers of pink and orange began to tickle the horizon.

The gate behind her opened and close, it's hinges screaming after years of mistreatment and lack up upkeep. She didn't want to turn around. She didn't want to look at him. The necklace seemed to burn her skin and she haphazardly scratched at it through the black scarf tied around her neck. The man behind her cleared his throat and she fought with herself on whether or not to turn around. Hey, she did _ask _him to come with her, and he actually _agreed_ to do it. It would be immature to ignore him at this point, seeing as he was here willingly. She swallowed hard, feeling her pride slide down her esophagus where it settled, her stomach bubbling in response. A grimace tugged at her lip and she took a deep breath, steadying herself.

Butch cleared his throat and she stood, turning to face him. He had his pack slung over his shoulder and was trying very hard not to look at her. She could tell by the hard line of his jaw that he was just as uncomfortable as she was. She took another deep breath and grabbed her pack from him.

Her viridian gaze traveled back to the horizon, where thunderheads had began to peek over the horizon. The rain always stirred up the dry terrain, making the air thick and hard to breathe. After the war, the skies only let down acid rains. After two hundred years it changed and it had become safe to walk through, but that didn't stop it from stirring up all the dirt particles and making her life that much harder. She pulled up her scarf and tied it a bit tighter over her nose.

"You might want to put on that mask I gave you," she said softly, starting up the stairs. "The rain likes to stir up all the dust and I find it a bit hard to breathe."

"So this is Grayditch, huh?" He sounded unimpressed.

"What did you expect? It's better than it was," she scoffed. "The place used to be infested with giant ants that could breathe fucking fire, thanks to this jackass scientist who let his experiment get out of control."

"I think that's kinda cool," he drawled, pulling his hood over his hair. Just like Butch, worrying about his hair over anything else. "He still around?"

"No," Dolly frowned, "I slit his throat after all the devastation he caused this town. It took weeks to get the blood stains out of his lab coat but I had to have it."

"The one you fuckin' wear all the time?" Butch asked incredulously, "I just had it in my head that those were, I dunno, dirt stains."

"Nope, just blood." She smiled brightly, her eyes crinkling happily. At least the tension was somewhat relieved between them. "You ever experienced rain before, Butch-man?"

"Nah," he picked up the pace and caught up to her, "I've only heard about it."

On cue, the clouds above them rumbled slightly. She tiled her head upwards and flinched as a soggy droplet landed squarely on her forehead. "The fuck," she cursed and wiped it away.

"Are ya afraid of the rain, sweet cheeks?"

"I'm not afraid of the rain," she corrected him, "I just don't like getting wet."

"That's not what I heard."

Dolly shot him a steely glance and he shut his mouth. Truth be told, she hated rain. She found it more a nuisance than anything. She grabbed onto Butch's arm and began to drag him along, as he currently had his eye transfixed on the sky above them. They were about an hour outside of Grayditch when the clouds finally released at full force, the rain pelting mercilessly against them.

The night before, she had managed to pick up a leather cloak lined with fur off of a dead mercenary. The craftsmanship that went into it was wonderful and it was a deep vermillion hue, but only visible when the light caught it at the right angle. She held her hand up to her companion so she could stop and retrieve it from her bag. The leather was thin but fit snugly over her armor and under her Tunnel Snakes jacket. Due to the rain, it was a bit humid and heat clung to her skin, but she felt better knowing her body was properly defended against the rain.

The rain began to take a tole on them as it blew sideways. It was incredibly thick and they weren't able to navigate the terrain in front of them. If it weren't for Dolly's pipboy, they would've been shit out of luck. Her wrist beeped and she looked down to the map, where a small marker popped up. It indicated that a large factory was ahead of them.

She pulled Butch aside and showed him the map, "We should stop here and wait out the storm. I can't see a fucking thing ahead of me."

"You call the shots," he said back slowly, his head tilting back up to stare at the murky clouds.

The abandoned building came into view and Dolly almost cried with joy. From what she could see, the upper stories had crumbled either during the explosions of war or after. The sign that hung across the side of the building said something about arms and ammunition, so she could only assume it was a factory surrounding the distribution of such. Maybe, if she was in luck, there would still be some to spare. No such thing as too much ammunition.

As they approached the front door she all but ran, yanking the cold steel open and darting inside. She pulled down her scarf and inhaled deeply, enjoying the stale smell of the building. She never thought she'd feel that way. The foyer held a small receptionist desk and a few plastic plants, which were semi melted and bent out of shape. Some dinky metal chairs were pushed up against the far wall, and she took the time to plop down on one of them so she could scrape the mud from her shoes. Thick, disgusting mud.

"How'd ya know this place was safe?" Butch queried as he peeked around the doorway.

"I don't," she met his startled gaze, "that's half the fun, though. Besides, it's safer that we stay in here and be able to see if death is charging at us. Out there," she thumbed over her shoulder toward the entrance, "out there, a shot to the head or a super mutant would be the last thing we didn't see coming."

Butch reached to his back and pulled his gun around and pointed it at nothing in particular. "You're not makin' me feel too good about this place. I had the shit beat outta me two weeks ago and I would really appreciate if that didn't happen again."

"Don't worry Butch," she slapped a hand across his back and withdrew her rifle, "that's what I'm here for." Her gaze wandered to his hands and realized he was shaking. "Butch, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, get off my back," he snapped. She pulled herself back a few steps and scrunched up her nose, making a face at his back. They began walking down the hallways, kicking open doors and sweeping the rooms.

"It's okay to be nervous," she said offhandedly while she was jimmying open a lock to a safe. "I still get nervous, but it's not as frequent anymore."

"I ain't nervous, Doll, I'm a Tunnel Snake. We don't get nervous, we get mad, ya hear?"

Dolly let out a triumphant cry when the safe gave way. Inside was a good amount of caps and and some 5.56mm rounds. She pocketed all of it and stood to look around a bit more. So far, everything was proving to be pretty normal. That didn't help her companion to calm down at all, though. Butch was a nervous wreck. Dr. Preston had told her that Butch suffered some PTSD which was understandable. She was a scientist and a doctor, she didn't dabble in studies of the human mind, but as a victim of the same stress disorder she knew how to calm him. The first thing she has to do is get his mind off of it.

"Hey, Butch, remember when you punched me in the face and broke my nose?"

He threw a look over his shoulder, his eyebrow raised curiously. "You say it like I just hunted ya down and threw a punch for shits n' giggles."

"Pretty much," she said matter-of-factly. "At least, that's how I remember it."

"Nah, that ain't how it went. You got between Freddy and I for some fuckin' reason. Wouldn't stop cryin' and I was so sure your old man was going to beat my ass."

"He should've," she laughed, covering her hand with her mouth. "You teased me for three days after that. You called me a crybaby and a tattletale."

He turned on her, his handsome face pulled into a scowl. "You were!"

"I was a child!" she pursed her lips. This was not going how it was supposed to. "You broke my nose! My dad had to reset it and my entire face was swollen for a week. My nose was so fucked I couldn't even taste the lunches my dad made for me."

Butch nodded and smiled, as if recalling the memory of her puffy face with fondness. They continued to sweep the area, ducking into the bathroom to check the stalls.

"Hey... do ya remember when the Overseer caught Amata and Freddy in the food storage?"

Dolly quirked her eyes up, trying to recall the event. "Oh! Yes!" she said, clapping her hands happily. "That was during the very awkward school dance. The Overseer had Freddy locked up for a week, poor Amata. Her dad never let her near any boys."

"My Ma made me go to that damn dance," his face wrinkled in distaste, "she made me wear this dumb suit and dress shoes. All I did was sit in the corner and read Grognak while Paul and Wally picked on the girls."

"Wasn't that the night we...?" She trailed off, searching Butch's face.

His mouth slid open for a second before he let out a raspy chuckle, "Aw, hell! It was! That was the night I caught ya in Mr. Brotch's class stealin' all the test answers. I was sure I was dreaming. Little ol' goody two shoes was actually a bad girl deep down."

"I was so sure you were going to turn me in," she laughed with him, enjoying the light banter between the two. Nostalgia swept over the both of them as they finished checking the bathrooms. "But you bartered with me and we came to a truce."

"I remember Amata bein' so confused because I wasn't picking on you anymore," he opened a door to a small break room. A skeleton sat at the checkered table, black stains covering every surface of the room.

"She thought you liked me," Dolly said casually.

"Nah, really?"

Dolly stuck out her bottom lip in a pout, "What, you didn't?"

Butch pressed his lips into a line. The adorable dimple showed itself once more and she couldn't help but smile blithely. She ushered him along the hallway. It was a big building, and they still had the assembly room to clear out. Conversation died between them and they walked in companionable silence. Her viridian eyes glanced over to his hands and noticed they still weren't shaking. She silently patted herself on the back for helping to diffuse a tough situation. If they happened to get in a scuffle, she needed Butch to have her back. Helping him work through his PTSD was just ensuring that both of them could go home and back to their lives without issue.

Dolly's ears perked up as she heard a soft clicking sound, like someone in heels walking impatiently across the tile. She crossed her arm in front of Butch's chest and brought him to a halt, signaling to stay quiet by pressing a single finger to her lips. At worse, she thought maybe it was a bug. She dropped into a crouch, her gun balancing between her knees as she slunk along the floor. Her steps were light and barely audible, whereas Butch's sounded like someone was dragging a dead body and some change. Her heart stopped when she heard the familiar banter of two men, their laughter picking up and echoing through the halls. She held up her radar on her pipboy and it read that there were two solid masses to her left, probably a few rooms away. They moved towards the end of the hallway, Butch taking the lead. She wanted to make sure he felt comfortable in control in this situation, so she let him go ahead.

His head snapped to her, "Do ya hear tha-"

Her eyes widened as the familiar sound of a land mine's proximity alarm rang in her ears. To her horror the mine was only a foot away from Butch, who was completely oblivious to its presence. She felt her blood run cold and everything seemed to go in slow motion. Her hand went to his back and she yanked him away, but it was too late. There was a flash and a loud pop, followed by the hollow sound of metal lockers and tile cracking and falling in on themselves. Her eyes stung and she tried to blink away the growing tears. Smoke billowed around them in thick clouds and she coughed. Her lungs ached and she wheezed, her hand feeling around the floor for signs of Butch. After a few moments, which dragged on for what seemed like an eternity, she found his leg through the haze. She knew the raiders would be coming around the corner any minute and she panicked. Her right arm felt a bit weird, weak even. She tried to grab at Butch's chest but found that her fingers were not obeying her. A shot of pain ran up her arm as she encircled a loose fist around one of Butch's ankles. From their exploration earlier, she knew there was a shower room about ten feet away. She began the arduous task of dragging her companion.

There wasn't time to waste. Her body ached and her ears were ringing, but she knew she had to get Butch away. Just get away from the people around the corner. Dragging Butch was a lot harder than it should have been, her hands twitching in pain every time she applied pressure to tighten her grip. Her heart raced in her chest as she reached the shower room. The doors were still intact. She placed Butch's limp body in the middle of the shower room and then turned to blocking the door. There wasn't much, maybe a steel bench here or there. But it would have to do. The task took all of two minutes and she grunted in pain with each movement, but the door was finally barricaded. She slid down the door in a graceful sweep, her back pressed against the entrance as if her body was enough to keep them out. Footsteps were fast approaching and she hoped silently that that she could make it through this. Her index finger snaked around the trigger of her rifle and she held it at the ready, waiting for them to bust through and finish them off... but they never came. When she was convinced they were no longer in the area, she turned her attention to Butch.

Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach and she knelt over him. She pulled his head into her lap, "No... no, no, no. This can't be happening. Butch? Can you hear me?"

She ran her hand over his face, her bloodied fingers leaving a trail down his cheek. His right side had taken the brunt of the explosion. The material of his leather jacket was charred, holes evident in the thick material. Burns covered the expanse of his neck, the side of his face singed as well. A few pieces of shrapnel stuck out from the wounds, taunting her and glistening with crimson. As her eyes wandered his body and assessed the situation, her doctor's mind kicking in, something caught her eye. Light glinted from a long, jagged piece of tile was lodged into his side. Her hand shook as it hovered above the injury. She knew she couldn't remove it, he could bleed out if the tile had punctured anything vital. Her viridian eyes wandered back to his face. His mouth hung open ajar, awkwardly askew. She brought two fingers up to his neck to feel for a pulse. His heart beat in timed succession beneath her fingertips, although faltering here and there. He was alive, that was a start.

She pulled her pack off of her back and rummaged through its contents. A few stimpaks and a shitload of med-x would have to do. The cap of the needle slid off with ease. She pressed the stimpak and the burns along with a couple doses of med-x, hoping to ease the pain for when he woke up. The burns to his face weren't as bad as the ones on his neck and hands. She had some leftover gauze in her bag and she wrapped it around his hand, cringing as blood soaked through it with ease. The head wound above his left eye was shallow but still detrimental enough to draw blood. The metal in his side was intimidating. A part of her wanted to yank it out and apply pressure... but she knew better. It felt awful doing nothing but it was best for him so for now, the tile would stay there for now.

She kept two fingers to his neck, afraid his heart would give out at any minute. Adrenaline began to wear off and for the first time she realized why her right hand felt so strange. Skin along her knuckles had been blown away from the blast, a few burns along the first phalanx. The amount of blood surprised her and she wondered why she hadn't noticed earlier. She grabbed an extra med-x and took it. Stimpaks couldn't be spared, especially in the state Butch was in. There was a small bundle of gauze left and she wrapped her hand. She was still susceptible to infection but her wounds were nothing compared to the man lying in her lap.

A familiar feeling of dread dug its claws into her and she began to tremble. This was her fault. She brought him with her. He would be okay if she had just done this alone. She let out a shaky breath and leaned against the lockers. Her eyes slid closed and she relished the relief. Her hand lifted and fell gently, reassuring her that Butch was still breathing. The sound of footsteps once again approached and she heard two men muttering outside the door to the locker room, the door nudging against the metal benches. She bit onto her lip and gazed down at Butch. She was in trouble.

* * *

His ears were ringing. Why were they ringing? Butch groaned internally and tried to open his eyes, but found that he couldn't. Something cold had soaked through the material of his stomach and he tried to raise his hand to feel it but found his body useless. His limbs felt cold and tingly. It would almost seem pleasant if he wasn't so confused. A circle of light appeared in his distant vision and as it spread he found himself able to look around. It was a... doctor's office? Okay, this didn't feel right. The last thing he remembered was perusing the hallway and turning to Dolly and... damn it, what happened? And holy shit did his head hurt.

"Oh good, you're up."

Butch flinched at the smooth, masculine voice that invaded his ears. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, his throat swollen and raw. Although he couldn't move his head, he could sense someone in the far corner watching him. It took a second, but something struck him. This doctor's office looked mighty familiar. A board against the right wall had patient's names and dates and if he strained his eyes enough, he could almost make out the writing. A face appeared over his and he felt his blood run cold at the person staring back at him. Calculating green eyes bore into he wished he could move his limbs and get the fuck out of there.

"We were staring to worry about you," a brief smile flashed across the man's face before he looked up, beckoning someone over with a nod.

"Hey, Butch, you worried me! You asshole," the person was out of his line of sight be he knew that voice. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. Butch opened his mouth to speak and found strength.

"Paul?" he croaked, his voice sounding foreign to him.

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry for pushing you and everything," his voice sounded sheepish. "I didn't mean for you to hit your head so hard. But I'm glad Dr. Murdoch was there to make sure you're okay."

Paul appeared in his line of sight and Butch's chest swelled with joy. His friend, his best pal, was right here. "I thought you were dead, Paul. What's goin' on?"

Paul's face twisted in confusion, "Man, you must've hit your head something fierce. I'll leave you alone for a while. We'll be in the dining hall whenever you're feeling up to it. Freddy made a patch for our jackets and I told him to hold one for you."

At this, Paul left the room. His footsteps echoed and thrummed loudly in his ears and he couldn't help the horrible sensation of loss come over him. No, no... this wasn't right. Paul died from those damn radroach bites. It was his jacket he was wearing. Butch's limbs had regain feeling and he reached to feel for the leather of his sleeves. The smooth cotton fibers of his jumpsuit ruffled beneath his fingertips and his eyebrows furrowed. Something just wasn't right. He tried to sit up but found that he couldn't. Every time he went to flex the muscles of his stomach to lift up, a horrible shock of pain pushed him back down. Even though he couldn't sit up, he found he could move his neck. He turned his head to look at the board next to him. The name at the top of the list was Amata. The date and year were wrong though, set for three years ago. The fuck?

James appeared in front of the board, his arms tucked into his lab coat. "You have quite a bump from that scuffle, Mr. DeLoria. How are you feeling?"

"Fuckin' confused," he blurted out. "You're alive. What's goin' on? Where's Dolly?"

"Dolly is in the lab doing homework," James said, slowly stepping closer to Butch. "Do you know where you are?"

"I'm back in the vault, but this ain't right," he rambled. "I was out there, with Doll. We were checkin' out this abandoned warehouse and—and..."

James let out a sigh and leaned against the whiteboard behind him. "When I did a scan of your brain, I didn't see any damage- at least not enough to cause this kind of confusion. I'm sure it was just a dream, Butch."

"It ain't just dreamin', Doc. You died trying to save that stupid water project. Dolly had to watch you die and you left her here all alone," Butch felt his face grow hot with frustration. "You left the vault in chaos. Paul died because of you, the Overseer died because of you. I had to live in that goddamn hell hole for a year waitin' for Dolly to come save our sorry asses from that asshole Mac-"

James' cold green eyes snapped to Butch. "I know."

"- and because of you, I... wait a minute, ya know? What are you talkin' about?"

The man's gaze was very distant, almost hauntingly so. "I know everything. I know about Paul, I know about leaving the vault, and I know about you and my daughter. Which, by the way, I did not see coming. I thought she had better taste in men."

"If you knew all this, then why did ya act like everything was normal?"

"You're having a dream about something that happened between you and Paul three years ago," James walked over to his desk and idly pushed around some papers. "I didn't want to interfere but for some reason, I'm here."

Butch's head throbbed as he recalled the events from three years ago. Images of Paul and him getting into an argument flashed across his mind and he cringed. They were fighting over a girl, he remembered that. It was Christine Kendall. Butch called Paul an ankle biter for how immature he was acting and Paul took a swing at him, knocking him into something. But why was he here? What was going on? The past three years couldn't have been a dream. It all seemed so real, unless...

"Am I dead, doc?" Butch asked, his voice small. If he was dead, this was most certainly hell. There's no way heaven would be the vault.

"No," he said levelly, pointing to Butch's stomach, "but you might be soon if my daughter doesn't get help."

Butch looked down and let out a yelp. The entire front of his jumpsuit was soaked in blood, and a jagged piece of tile was lodged into him. It was the tile from the abandoned warehouse. That's right, he activated a land mine. It must've been pretty powerful to shatter the tile and project it into him. His hands shook as they levitated over the wound. As his hands came into view, he saw that his right hand was busted, gauze wrapped around it and soaked in blood.

He heard someone enter the room and looked up to see Dolly, but a younger Dolly. Her russet hair was short and curled beneath her chin, her thick framed glasses pushed high upon her face. She wore a slight accent of makeup across her eyelids and for the first time he noticed that she had freckles. The uniform jumpsuit hugged her lithe body and her backpack was slung over her shoulder. Her expression was one of worry and he felt himself grow cold.

"Butch, you need to get up now."

"Doll, I can't," he motioned to his stomach, "I kind of have a problem here."

Gun fire echoed in his ears and he jumped out of his skin, a rather loud expletive slipping from his lips. A scream sounded to his right. It sounded like Dolly, but when he looked to her he found that her mouth wasn't moving. What the hell was going on? Another gunshot rang out and he felt himself growing anxious. His eyes wandered back to James, who was staring back at him with cold, glazed over eyes. His skin was gray, his lips lightly tinged with blue and pale. Dried vomit hung from his chin and he remained there, unmoving. A face appeared in the doorway to the office and Butch yanked his neck to see Paul. His face was riddle with rotting flesh; gaping wounds showing where the radroaches were able to chew through his skin. His mouth hung open slightly and his lips started moving slowly. It took only a few seconds to realize that Paul was mouthing, "help me."

"Stop, this ain't funny!" Butch yelled, his eyes snapping between the three wildly.

His vision began to grow black and he let out a strangled cry. This was it, this was the end. He was dying. A chill spread through him and he trembled. His body felt light and weightless and he could've sworn he was floating. The gun fire continued, but it sounded so distant. His hearing was garbled, as though he was submerged in water. As he felt himself start to drift away, he heard a voice get close to his ear and whisper.

"Open your eyes."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry the chapter is kind of short, but I wanted to update! I'm going to be reformatting some of the chapters, and if you haven't seen it already, I have edited chapter seven. The sex scene is much better, in my opinion. Please go back and give it a read. Thank you! And keep on with the reviews, they give me hope! **


	10. Some Rain Must Fall

**Hey everyone! I'm glad to see this got some more attention, and I just want to say again how much it means to me. I'm having trouble staying motivated, because between work and my personal life things are kind of hectic. There are going to be a few dream sequences, like the last chapter, since Butch is passed out. Anyways, enjoy!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Ten:**  
"Some Rain Must Fall"

* * *

Dolly perched herself over Butch, her gun poised at the ready. Her breath came out in ragged pants, the sound of her heart thrumming loudly in her ears. She waited for more raiders to come check out what all the noise had been. Her arms shook violently as she struggled to hold her gun. One of the offenders had managed to fire his gun and she was caught by a bullet as it ricocheted around the tiled bathroom. Blood spilled down her arm and dripped to the floor below. Her mangled fingers began to lose grip and she cursed as her gun fell to the floor. She was royally fucked. The fact that she managed to even fend off the two Talon Merc bastards was surprise enough, but now... now she was too fucked up to even hold a gun. She pulled out a stimpak and pushed the needle into the back of her hand, hissing as blood flashed back into the syringe. She was supposed to save all of the medical supplies for Butch, but what good was she to defend him if she couldn't even move her fingers?

She jumped as Butch inhaled sharply beneath her, as if he had been holding his breath. He shook his head back and forth weakly, "Stop... stop, I tried. I tried to help... go away."

Dolly crouched down and pressed her bandaged hand against his shoulder, "Butch, can you hear me?"

His eyes snapped open, "What- what the fuck? Doll?"

She sighed in relief. "Yeah, Butch, I'm here."

As soon as he realized where he was, his eyes wandered to his stomach, "Holy fuck."

"It's not as bad as it looks," she tried to reassure him. His eyebrows rose as he addressed her incredulously. "Okay, I know. It's as bad as it looks. I'm just trying to keep you calm."

"Get this out of me," he said weakly.

"I can't... you could bleed to death."

Butch turned his watery blue eyes to hers, "I can't feel my arms, is that normal?"

Dolly swallowed the lump of fear lodged in her throat, "It... uh, no. It's from the blood loss. You've lost quite a bit. You probably feel cold and shaky, too. Is there any abnormalities in your vision?"

He nodded, letting his eyes close, "It's like static."

She chewed on her bottom lip and knelt next to him, "I'm going to feel your abdomen, it's the only way I can assess the extent of your injuries. It's going to hurt, but please, bear with me."

She formed her two hands into the shape of a triangle and pressed her hand against the upper part of his abdomen. Butch let out a hiss and tossed his head back, a barely audible, and uncharacteristic, whimper floating from his lips. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, moving her hands in small circles. The assessment had to be quick, they were short on time. Her pipboy had alerted her to the fact that there were four more people wandering around the building. She swallowed hard and tried to focus. Her hands drifted across his liver. It wasn't swollen and was pliable, but not too spongy. His wound had been lower but she wasn't sure if there had been any further damage to his other organs. She moved her hands towards the open wound and felt again, and she earned an earful of expletives from Butch. The placement of his wound indicated that the tile was lodged in his lower intestines. The intestines had a great way of weaseling their way out of injuries, and she silently hoped this was the case. If his intestines had been perforated, he was at a high risk for sepsis. It was a good thing she gave him the stimpaks when she did. It helped aid the clotting and also raised his immune system to fight off infection. She withdrew her hands, wiping his blood away on the leather sleeve of her jacket.

"Listen," she said shakily, fumbling through her pack for the last blood bag she had, "I'm going to give you some blood, it's all we can do for now until I can reach a clinic. Your major organs seem okay, your abdomen isn't distended and the wound site isn't too inflamed. Are you experiencing breathing problems?"

"A little bit," he mumbled, "it ain't too bad."

"Abdominal injuries bleed a lot," she let out a sigh of relief as she recovered the blood bag and prepared an intravenous line. She was appalled that she was doing this here with such little equipment and barely any sterility, but she had to make do. "Your abdominal cavity and peritoneum can also hold a lot of blood, which is why I was checking to see if your abdomen was distended. Let me know if your breathing gets worse, okay? The main thing to worry about right now is infection, but your chance is lowered thanks to the stimpaks I-"

Butch's hand latched onto her arm and she stopped talking. His blue eyes were wide with fear, his perfectly shaped lips open and twisted into a frown. Although his breathing was a normal rate, it came in and out of his mouth in heavy breaths. For a brief moment, she wondered if he was going into shock. His bottom lip quivered and she could've sworn she saw a tear slide down his cheek, the salty dribble clearing a path down his grimy skin.

"I'm gonna die," his voice was weak and not like him at all.

"Stop talking like that," she held the blood bag above him, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Holy shit, I'm gonna die," his breathing was heavy and shaky. "Look, I- I want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

She gave another squeeze to the bag, "Butch..."

He swallowed hard and inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering closed as he shook his head side to side, "I'm sorry for bein' an asshole to you our entire lives. I'm sorry for takin' your money and your gun to that dumb bar. I'm sorry for... for ignoring you the way I have. I'm sorry for not bein' open about how I feel-"

"Shut up, you're not going to die," the voice that escaped her throat was panicked and strangled, cracking beneath the weight of her emotions. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest and her vision began to blur. No, not now. This was the one time she had to stay strong for him and she couldn't even do that.

"Doll..." he whispered, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, "I don't wanna go out like this, not like this."

"It's a good thing you aren't going to die then," she forced a laugh. "This blood is going to help replenish a small amount of what you've lost. It should sustain you until I get you somewhere safe."

"Ya got hurt..." Butch trailed off, eying her shoulder.

She looked down to her hand which was still dripping with blood from her shoulder wound, "It was nothing. One of the raiders caught me in the shoulder. I'm fine."

"Didn't ya get hit there last time?" He asked feebly, a small smile on his face.

She smiled a bit in response, remembering the day she rescued him and took a bullet. "That was the other shoulder."

There was a clang in the hall and Dolly wilted. The rest of them were here. She pulled up her pipboy and almost fell over when she saw three dots hovering right outside the door to the locker room. The door was open ajar and she locked onto the barrel of a rifle that peeked through. Talon Company always carried grenades with them and she gnawed at her lip worriedly. If they threw one in here they would surely be done with. She wearily pulled out the 10mm strapped to her thigh and aimed it at the barrel of the gun. She fired a warning shot and watched as the weapon retracted. A few laughs echoed from the people in the hallway and she looked back to Butch. His eyes were closed but she noted that his chest rose and fell in quick concession.

A voice challengingly called out, "Don't be afraid, pussycat. We just want to play with ya."

Another round of laughs. She felt herself grow hot with anger. The blood in the bag began to dwindle and she had to hold off for a few more minutes, "Fuck off."

"Oooooh, Janus was right, she's feisty," a man with a raspy voice laughed.

"Let's put her in her place, yeah?"

"Not yet," another voice, smooth and friendly. "Boss wants to take care of this one himself. He says to lay off."

A groan came from the two other men, "Aw that son of a bitch ain't fun."

"That doesn't matter," the smooth voice said again, "Boss said to lay off, so lay off."

"But she took out Thetic and Mac," the first voice snapped, "We can't just let her get away with it."

"We can and we will. Boss wants us back at the base, so move your sorry asses."

She jumped as a face appeared in the doorway, his stubble and crooked smile making her stomach churn with unease, "Farewell for now, pussycat. We'll be seein' ya."

Two of them laughed and she heard fumbling around until it grew quiet once more. Well, that was sure as hell confusing. From the sound of it, Talon had yet another hit out on her and the leader of this particular dispatched group wanted to deal with her himself. That was all well and good, she could deal with the lot of them on her own. For now, it was a blessing that their boss wasn't with them this time. Someone was looking out for her. She looked to Butch. His skin didn't hold an unhealthy pallor and was beginning to grow pink as blood flushed through his veins. It was only one bag, but it was enough to do the trick. He still wasn't out of the woods, though. If she didn't get him to Megaton and soon, he would bleed out by morning.

She brought her face to his ear, "Butch, I need to move you. If we don't get you to Megaton..."

She didn't want to finish that sentence.

"It's okay," he exhaled and brought a shaky hand to his head, his other pressing flat against the ground to push himself up. "I think I can move."

"You can feel your arms again!" She helped him into a sitting position, trying to ignore the wince of pain as he sat upright. "That's a good sign."

She placed her arm underneath his armpit, bringing her hand around to grasp gently onto his left side. He placed an unsteady hand against the wall and brought his feet underneath him, slipping a few times until they were standing upright. Her pack sat uncomfortably against her damaged shoulder and she let out a groan of pain, trying to keep her balance. The hand that had been damaged in the explosion dangled lamely at her side and they began to shuffle towards the door. The steel benches were easily pushed aside with her legs and they squeezed through the doorway. Her pipboy gave no sign to anyone in her proximity and she guided Butch towards the front entrance.

They were so fucking lucky. By the time they had left the building the rain came to only a mild drizzle. It was dark out, but the light from her pipboy eased their worry and illuminated their path. Megaton was in the opposite direction and they would have to cross through Grayditch again. Every now and then she would check to see how Butch was fairing. He would give her a groan to let her know he was still alive, but she noticed the way he tripped over his own feet and sweat beaded his brow. Now that they were in the clear, guilt began to chew away at her. This was all her fault. If only she had brought someone along who was more experienced, someone she wasn't so close to. It wasn't fair that Butch had been out in the wastes a little under a month and he had already been brought to the brink of death twice. This was why she preferred to travel alone. No one to hold her back and no one's death to linger on her conscience.

They were thirty minutes outside of Megaton when she felt Butch's strength start to wane. His steps became clumsy and his breathing was labored. In the light of the pipboy, his skin was ashen and his face glistening in a cold sweat. They were pushing their luck.

"Hang in there, Butch," she said gently, pressing her temple to his. "Megaton is only thirty minutes away. You'll be okay."

Butch didn't respond.

"You'll be okay..." she whispered to the air, picking up her pace.

* * *

It had been seven minutes since Butch stopped breathing.

Six minutes since she last felt his heartbeat.

Five minutes since the blood drained from his face.

She grunted above him, pressing her balled up fist into his chest, silently counting to three in her head with each compression. Church sat across from her with a portable oxygen mask, regarding her with a sad expression and clenching the bag every time she paused. The front of his vault uniform was erubescent, the stain leaving no part of the thin cotton blend untouched. It had all happened so fast. One minute, he was clumsily dragging his feet and stumbling, slurring his words as they neared the outskirts of Megaton. Then the next minute, he went limp, pulling her to the ground as he fell into unconsciousness. She must've woken up the town with how loud she screamed, somehow finding the strength to hall him over her shoulders and book it to the clinic. Doc Church almost pissed himself as she kicked open the door and yelled for him, tossing Butch onto the examination table. She was counting the minutes from when his heart gave out to when she crashed into the clinic, and things were not looking good.

"Fuck," she cursed, shaking the frustrated tears from her cheeks, "fuck, fuck, fuck. Don't leave me like this, Butch, you goddamn asshole!"

"Dr. Murdoch," the doctor spoke across from her softly, giving the oxygen mask another squeeze, "he's gone."

"No he isn't, don't talk like that. He'll be fine. I've come back from worse."

"But _he_ might not."

Dolly snapped her head up to him, her eyes glaring daggers. "Are you going to keep helping me or are you going to pussy out and give up?"

The doctor let out an incredulous huff and turned to portable defibrillator, "It's almost charged. The back up generator is working as fast as it can."

"Check to see if we have a rhythm back," Dolly commanded.

Doc pressed two fingers to Butch's neck, "I'm sorry Dolly, I don't... wait."

Her face fell for a second, "What?" He didn't answer, his eyes staring intently into Butch's chest. "Say something, god damn it!"

The way Church's face transformed from one of despondence to a daft grin sparked hope into her, "It's not much, but something's there."

"Get the paddles," she cried, nodding to the defibrillator. "We have to shock him while he has a heartbeat."

The doctor ripped open Butch's vault uniform, quickly attaching leads to his chest. He worked around Dolly, ensuring that she could keep the rhythm while he worked away. Finally, all the leads were attached. She swallowed hard as Church studied the AED, an old device from long ago that needed power from the generators. In her younger years, she read in a textbook that those portable defibrillators were kept in schools and public places to ensure easy access. They needed to be changed every so often, but Doc had modified this one to hook up to a direct power source. It never needed to be changed and it was readily available. She was ecstatic to hear that he had one, and if things went alright, she planned on fiddling around with the device when Church wasn't looking.

Church looked back to her, "Clear!"

Dolly removed her hands and watched as Butch's body twitched beneath the leads. She stared at the EKG, silently hoping to see a regular heartbeat. Another shock, her eyes never leaving the screen. This couldn't be it. She promised him... she promised him he'd be okay. She chewed onto her bottom lip, wiping away the tears with the back of her hands.

"Come on," her voice warbled, "don't to this to me."

Her hand struck out and grasped onto his, giving it a tight squeeze. Butch's skin was still warm and her heart faltered, beating erratically against her ribcage. Beating for both of them. She removed her hand and Church shocked him again. This time, though, a regular heartbeat was established. Her jade eyes gazed at the machine with trepidation, her focus never leaving the angles and beeps, afraid that it might stop at any moment. With one hand, Church continued to apply oxygen, his hand hovering over the button of the AED just in case. A few more minutes ticked by and Dolly pinched herself. This wasn't a dream. A strangled cry left her throat and she pressed her hands to her mouth, looking over to her fellow physician with unbidden joy and relief. As much as she tried to contain it, a sob escaped her, her chest rumbling with unconstrained blubbering.

"Good job, Doctor." Church congratulated, handing the bag for the oxygen mask over to her.

She wove her fingers through Butch's greasy umber locks, pressing the bag, "We need to hook him up to some blood bags. I already started an IV back at the warehouse."

"I see that," the other doctor hummed, "we also need to pull out the rest of the tile that's in his abdomen. We don't want him to get an infection."

Doll felt her heart sink, "I'm afraid he'll bleed out again if we do that."

"Well, we can't leave it in him. Even you know that."

"We'll have to until I deem it safe to extract it," she bit out, her fingers twirling a tendril between her forefinger and thumb, "I don't want to risk it again."

"Dr. Murdoch, I politely and respectively disagree."

"Look, I can be reckless and careless about myself but..." her eyes wandered Butch's face, his skin beginning to regain color, "not him. I'm his doctor and I call the shots. I want to wait until he's a bit more stable before we try anything that can jeopardize his livelihood."

Church shook his head with a light laugh, "Well, alright then. I know better than to argue with you. His IV is hooked up and he's receiving blood... do you think we should intubate him? Make sure he doesn't stop breathing in the middle of the night?"

"You have a vent here? You have that kind of technology?"

"Constructed the machine myself," he said proudly and thumbed over his shoulder. "I've used it quite a lot and it works very well. I'll wheel it over here for you."

"We should've done that to begin with," she said under her breath with the slight quirk of her brow.

The doctor put the machine in front of her and handed an intubation tube to her. She removed the bag and opened Butch's mouth, tilting his head back. A light shone and she fumbled around until she found the opening of his trachea and slid the tube in. After a few minutes of learning the machine, Church turned it on. She watched as the pumps moved up and down, retracting and expanding every so often, mesmerized by the way Butch's chest began to rise in fall in matching concession. This was something she'd have to learn to make... or pay Church to make for her. She'd only need it when she planted herself at other clinics, which was rare, but it'd still be convenient to have.

She cleaned around the wound in Butch's stomach, placing gauze over it in the meantime. Church had pulled up a chair for her and she lowered Butch's bed to her level, taking a seat with a sigh. Since the moment she left the vault for a second time she knew nothing good would come of this union, and she was right. Her index finger traced small circles against the crutch of his hand, her eyes never leaving his face. Lights in the room had all been put out, except for the small verdant colored haze from the heart monitor. She felt bad for Butch, really. He'd been through too much already. If they had arrived at the clinic a bit later than they had... then Butch might not be with her right now. Fear took a hold of her heart and she struggled to breathe, anxiety prickling her skin and pulling at the hairs on the back of her neck. The idea of losing Butch was too much to fathom, but since he had entered the wastes it was a very likely reality that she wasn't prepared to deal with.

She'd been brought back from the brink of death multiple times, but not everyone was a lucky as her. Her hand wandered to his forehead and she placed a palm to his fevered skin. Memories of her first night back in the vault flashed across her memory. The way Butch had made her dinner, the way he had cleaned up his dishes, the way they fell asleep after talking for hours into the early morning. They fell together almost instantaneously. The night in the clinic, it was the first time she had ever had sex and it actually felt... well, good. She felt so content as she snuggled into his chest, inhaling the remnants of his stupid pomade and hints of musk. Then morning came around and she bailed, worried far too much about what the hell that meant and if she suddenly had to commit. It always happened like that. She took what she needed and then she'd leave. Things had changed, though. After that night they had no boundaries. He wasn't the brightest but he wasn't stupid; he caught onto her body language pretty quickly, but that didn't stop him from grabbing her butt or planting a quick kiss on her neck when he knew no one was looking. She chalked it down to him messing around with her, but now... now she wasn't so sure. Did that night even mean anything to him?

The necklace around her neck burned her skin and her other hand went up to grasp onto the blood colored gem. She knew him taking her money and her favorite gun was his way of lashing out at her for bailing the morning after, so she understood. That's just how he was. He'd kiss her on the lips while stealing her wallet and act like nothing was amiss. Then he had returned with that jewel and she began to rethink things. Would a man who didn't really care deeply for her bring her jewelry out of the blue, when he easily could've hocked it for a quick buck? This is what confused her. At times, he filled her with homicidal rage but... also nervousness, like something was constantly tickling her insides and making her blush. She threw a glance over her shoulder to see if anyone else was in the room before she leaned over him, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. If Church had seen that he'd never let her hear the end of it. She let out a sigh and rested her head against the corner of the examination table, closing her eyes. Whenever Butch was injured, she acknowledged that she wasn't going sleep, but she may as well try.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger, but the next chapter is coming soon! I haven't been in medical classes in years so I apologize if I mixed up any terminology.**


	11. Teenage Wasteland

**This chapter is pretty much a bunch of flashbacks since Butch's mind is going psycho crazy bonkers while he's unconscious. **

**It's bits and pieces of his past and major things that have effected him either negatively or positively. I also wanted to keep it like a regular dream sequence. In dreams we're not really aware that we're dreaming, even though every now and then you get that flash of "this doesn't seem right." He goes along with these like he did back when they were happening, but something just seems off and he can't put his cute little finger on it. Just in case you wonder why he isn't addressing the dream and questioning things too intently but still getting flashes of reality. This isn't lucid dreaming, after all. It's fluid but chaotic and out of order. Much like my mind. ****  
**

**Anyways! Enjoy the extra long chapter! **

* * *

**Chapter Eleven:**  
"Teenage Wasteland"

* * *

Butch paced back and forth wildly. The alarms sounded in a cacophony of chaos, the red lights flashing against steel metallic walls in sync. A scream sounded from the living room and he bolted in, watching her thrash about the floor. Radroaches nipped and hissed at her as she cowered, her arms guarding her face in vain. Another blood curdling scream escaped her throat and she yelled for him, for anyone, to help. Butch's eyes wandered the room frantically, searching for something- anything to help. His eyes wandered over to the small wooden baseball bat in the corner and he swallowed hard, lunging for it. One of the giant insects noticed his movements and let out a hiss, scuttling over to him. It's tiny feet clicked against the steel grating and Butch shivered at the sound. As it came closer he yelped and jumped away, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. Everything went silent as his eyes bounced between his mother and grotesque bug currently hauling ass towards him.

With one fell swoop, he raised the bat and struck down. It cracked against the roach's shell and the bug retracted for a moment to regain composure. Butch noticed the shell had a small crack but that was it. His hands trembled as the creature charged him again. A coldness settled throughout his limbs, a sort of fear he had never experienced in his short life. God, he was such a fucking pussy. The mighty Butch-man, leader of the Tunnel Snakes, was fucking cowering in his room while a stupid bug tried to get at him. His mother continued to shriek, her voice becoming shriller and weaker. He was running out of time. Another crack to the radroach distracted it long enough for him to run past it. With a swift kick he knocked another roach of the way and pressed the button to slide the doors closed. He needed help, and fast.

He ran out into the halls, watching with curiosity as security ran by him, yelling about how someone was escaping. Whatever was going on, it sure as hell wasn't good. He waved his arms frantically at a few of the guards to try to get them to help, but they paid him no mind and continued down the hall. Butch called out a string of profanities at the useless vault security. His only relative was going to die because he was too chickenshit to take care of it himself. A growl emitted from his throat and he kicked the wall, raising his fist to punch it in frustration. Footsteps echoed through the halls over the sounds of the alarms and he looked up. There, in all her dorky glory, was James' kid. She had a 10mm in her hand and was shuffling low to the ground, her head darting around every corner. Her hair was mussed up and sticking to her face wildly, her plump pink lips parted slightly as she tried to catch her breath. As much as he hated to admit it, she looked kind of... sexy. He shook his head to banish the thought. His eyes wandered back to the gun in her hand a thought struck him.

As quickly as he could, he shuffled up to her. Dolly swung around and pointed the gun at his face, her eyes wide with fear. Blood stains spattered her cheeks and her broken glasses were tucked away neatly into the front pocket of her uniform. Her green eyes were wild and she addressed him momentarily, before assessing that he was not a threat, and turned to continue down the hall. His hand struck out and he caught onto her forearm.

"Nosebleed, I'm so glad you're here," he said frantically, "I need your help."

Dolly tried to yank her arm away, "Fuck off, Butch."

"Please, it's my Ma. She's being attacked by radroaches. I don't know what to do."

Her cold, calculating jade eyes turned to him, "Why should I help you?"

"Because she's my Ma! She's... she's," his voice faltered, desperation working its way through his system, "... she's all I got. Please, nosebl- I mean, Dolly. Please? You're my last hope. I don't wanna lose her."

She seemed to deliberate for a moment, glancing between the stairs at the end of the hall and the door to his and his mom's quarters. With a final shrug she let out a sigh, "Okay. Lead me to her."

Butch dragged her to his room and entered the living room, pointing towards his mom's bedroom towards the back, "She's in there."

Dolly nodded to him and crept swiftly towards the door. The door slid open and Butch cringed at the chorus of hissing that sounded from the room. Dolly let out a yelp and began to fire. He hoped with all his might that she knew how to use the damn thing and didn't hit his mom. A few more screams came from the other woman in the room. The room grew silent and Dolly sat against the wall, breathing heavily, her arms trembling with pent up adrenaline. Butch crept towards the room and peeked his head in, letting out a cry of relief as he saw his mom sitting on the bed. Radroaches laid scattered about the room, their blood smeared against his mother's handed down and cheap looking bedroom rug. Without another word, Dolly turned to him with a nod and shoved past him, moving back towards the hallway.

Butch made sure his mother was okay before chasing after her. "Wait, Dolly, can you tell me what the fuck is going on?"

She turned to him with a sad look, "I can't talk about that right now, Butch. I have to get going."

"Go? Go where?" She didn't respond, turning to leave instead. For some reason, Butch felt like he needed to thank her, but more than just petty words. He needed to show her his gratitude. "Wait!"

He wasn't sure she was going to stop but she did, turning to address him with a frustrated scowl. He hated how adorable she looked, her mouth down turned in almost an endearing skulk. With a small smile he moved towards her and began slipping his arms from the sleeves of his jacket. After it was fully removed he held it out to her, watching as her head tilted to the side questioningly.

"I know it ain't much but... I want you to have my Tunnel Snakes jacket," he watched as her eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat, "it's a thank you for saving my Ma."

"Butch, I couldn't..." she trailed off.

"Just take it, nosebleed." When she didn't move to take it from him he shuffled forward, awkwardly draping it over her shoulders. "There, it looks great on ya."

For the first time in a year, he saw her smile, and it was absolutely stunning. His chest clenched at the site and he watched her with pride as she pulled her arms through the sleeves. Her soft pink lips muttered a 'thank you' before she turned to run towards the stairs. All he saw was the hand stitched snake emblem of his gang disappear before his mom called out to him. He turned to take care of her, the mental picture of his little redheaded hoodlum still fresh in his mind. What was a man to do?

He turned the corner, feeling a bit naked without his jacket. His mom called for him again and he entered her bedroom. Except... it wasn't her room anymore, it was the cafeteria. His mother was gone and where she sat was replaced with red, dingy booths. The lights were dimmed and the low thrum of chatter filled the room. Confused, he swung back around and looked out the door, only to see an open hallway behind him. No red lights. No alarms. Wait... why were there alarms again? He felt his brain squirm, a memory itching for attention but just out of reach. Kind of like when he would walk into a room for something and forget what it was. He turned back around and saw people awkwardly dancing to some three hundred year old tunes, a few others standing against the wall. His eyes wandered to his feet and he noticed that his boots had been replaced with tacky dress shoes. Surprised, he turned to check out his reflection in the glass of the jukebox. Oh... no, this was bad. He tugged at the horrendous bow tie around his neck and the awful deep blue material of his suit.

Across the room, a scuffle broke out. Butch glanced over curiously, only to realize that it was Paul and Wally picking on poor Christine Kendall. Probably bothering her for a dance. Huh, this all seemed mighty familiar. His hand suddenly felt heavy and he looked down. Curled between his fingers was an edition of Grognak... the very one he stole from James' kid. Something felt off but he might as well just worry about that later. With a sigh he plopped down on one of the booths and cracked the comic open with a grin. As he began to read about Grognak cracking some dragon-looking creature's skull (which was pretty sweet), something caught his eye. He looked up and froze.

It was Dolly, and she was... all dolled up. In that moment he thought any other name couldn't fit her better. She wore a silk dress colored mint green. The collar dipped low and in the shape of a V, subtly pushing up the swell of her breasts. It was cinched high at the waist and the skirt was pleated, coming to a stop right above her knees. Her tawny hair was curled in smooth ringlets with one strand tucked behind her ear. Per usual, she wore a black line across the top of her eyelids. If he remembered correctly, the other girls were calling it "cat's eyes" or something like that. He thought that makeup stuff was weird. He must've been staring, because Dolly looked up suddenly. Her mouth dropped open as their gazes locked and she quickly looked away, abashed. Butch felt his face grow hot with embarrassment and buried his face into his comic.

When he looked back up, she was gone, and the door behind him swished closed. He chewed on his bottom lip. Did she want him to follow her? No. No way. Yet... he wanted to go after her. Why? There was no reason for him to care about where she went. She was just an annoying poindexter. But... she did look quite stunning. The way her curly russet hair tucked beneath her jawline and accentuated the milky ivory skin of her neck... ugh, he shook his head. He had to remind himself that this was the same girl who goated him into a fight on her birthday all those years ago, the same girl who got him in trouble after she jumped between him and one of the guys during a fight. They hated each other so... why was the urge to hop to his feet and track her down so overpowering? For some reason, still unknown to him, he placed his comic on the table and stood up. He straightened his bow tie and walked out into the hallway.

Now, if he were a nerd, where would he sneak off to? He tapped his temple in thought as he turned the corner, walking towards the library. Maybe she'd be reading. He found his way to the library and crept into the dark room, keeping an eye out for any lamps or flashlights. It must've been five minutes that he tiptoed around the room like an idiot before realizing that she most definitely wasn't there. He left the room feeling defeated. Maybe she went back to her living quarters. No one was offering to dance with her. He shrugged at the idea and started over to her room. On his way, he heard two people giggling further down the hall. Sensing something juicy was afoot, he snuck down to the end of the hall and peeked around one of the corners. That was a bad move, because as soon as his head popped over the wall, he met the very red faces of Amata and Freddie. Their hands were intertwined. Amata's lipstick was smeared slightly and her hair was falling from her up-do, while Freddy had a goofy smile on his face. Butch's lips cracked into a incredulous grin as he realized that Freddy had Amata's red lipstick on his neck.

He let out a low whistle and the two jumped away from each other. "Hey there love birds, don't mean to interrupt," he sniggered, "but I'm looking for Nosebleed. Ya seen her?"

Amata's eyes narrowed, "Why are you looking for her, Butch? What are you going to do?"

"Shit, nothin' Amata. Can't I ask where she is without bein' accused?"

"No, actually, you can't," she crossed her arms with a huff. "Every time you and her get together it's like a full out brawl. She looks beautiful tonight and I don't want you to break her nose again."

"Aw, c'mon! That was like, one time, okay? I didn't mean to punch her, she just got in the way."

"It was not an accident," Freddie chimed in. "You bragged about it for a week!"

"Nuh-uh! I just teased her a bit, is all. She could handle it."

"She cried," Amata said as she pursed her lips. "She cried and you called her names."

"Even I thought that was low, Butch." Freddie hastily agreed.

The man was pussy-whipped already. Jesus Christ.

"Whatever, man," Butch glared at his friend. "I just want to give her somethin', okay?"

Freddy's hand wandered to Amata's lower back and he leaned in to whisper something into her ear.

Amata's face grew red, "Fine! We passed her about a minute ago, she said she forgot something in the classroom and was going to retrieve it."

Butch sniggered again as the two retreated, "The cafeteria is empty, and the supply closet has no cameras. Just so ya know!"

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and continued on his way to the classroom. Briefly he wondered what she had left there that she needed to retrieve so suddenly. The way she left was kind of odd... but that girl was odd, that was for sure. His mind wandered to the time he punched her in the nose. For some reason, he felt like he had been asked about that a lot recently. Again, his brain twitched, and he struggled for a memory just out of reach. He needed to get more sleep, apparently. Shuffling drew him from his thoughts and he realized he had reached the classroom. He heard a voice softly curse and some light, scratching sounds. He entered the room as quietly as he could but the person heard him enter. A small shock of orange popped up from behind Mr. Brotch's desk. Well, this was a surprise. Dolly sat wide-eyed as she stared at him, bobby pins dangling in disarray from her mouth. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped. Something at the back of his mind exploded and a scene began to unfurl before his eyes.

"_My Ma made me go to that damn dance," his face wrinkled in distaste, "she made me wear this dumb suit and dress shoes. All I did was sit in the corner and read Grognak while Paul and Wally picked on the girls." _

"_Wasn't that the night we...?" Dolly trailed off, searching Butch's face. _

_His mouth slid open for a second before he let out a raspy chuckle, "Aw, hell! It was! That was the night I caught ya in Mr. Brotch's class stealin' all the test answers. I was sure I was dreaming. Little ol' goody two shoes was actually a bad girl deep down." _

"_I was so sure you were going to turn me in, but you bartered with me and we came to a truce."_

When the memory cleared he felt deeply confused. That was Dolly he was talking to but her hair was long and she was wearing funny looking clothes. It almost looked like armor. He remembered the weight of a gun in his hand as they walked through some building. Was that a dream? It seemed too real. She looked older and they were acting like close friends. No... more than friends. The feeling he had in that memory was one of strong affection and a desire to protect. Now _that _was odd. Incertitude grabbed at him as he wracked his mind. When he finally remembered where was and what he was going, Dolly was staring at him like he had suddenly sprouted a second head. Butch shook his head to banish the crazy thoughts in his mind and languidly walked over to the desk. Dolly had barricaded herself behind it.

"Whatcha doin'?" He asked casually.

"None of your business," she snapped, spitting the bobby pins into her hand. "Why are you here?"

Butch ignored her query, "Are you trying to break into Mr. Brotch's desk? Well I'll be damned, if little miss goody two shoes has a bad streak."

_Deja vu._

"Fuck off, Butch," she swallowed hard.

"Make me."

"Look, Butch, can you please just go away? Go read that Grognak that you stole from me and leave me in peace I'm- I'm," she waved towards the desk in frustration, "I'm trying to do something here and it would be wonderful if you left."

"I'll leave, buuuuuut," he pressed his back to the wall and crossed his arms coolly, "you have to tell me what you're doin' first."

"No! Absolutely not, you'll get me in trouble."

Butch examined his hands, trying to act disinterested, "No I won't."

"And why should I believe you? You've spent your whole life making me miserable," she regarded him warily, "what's your angle?"

"Look, Doll," he paused. Why did he call her that? It felt so familiar to call her that. He hoped she didn't notice his awkward pause and stared down at her with a sheepish grin, "I dunno what you're up to but it seems pretty damn sneaky, and I want in on it, yeah?"

"What if I turn you down?"

"You won't," he said with a smug grin.

At this, Dolly laughed. "I can't fucking believe you. Get out of here, you're so ridiculous."

"I told you I'm not leavin' until I get in on this."

She rolled her eyes and banged her forehead against the desk, letting out a groan. "Fuck me... ugh, I really don't want to but... fine."

Butch mentally patted himself on the back for his amazing bartering skills.

Dolly pointed towards the bottom drawer of the desk, "I'm trying to sneak a peak at the grading guide for the GOAT and maybe steal away with a few answer sheets for other tests while I'm at it."

"Why? Ain't that your thing, ya know? You're the bookworm, you actually study for tests," Butch gestured towards himself, "_I'm_ the delinquent who needs to steal all the test answers to get by."

"You know," Dolly sighed, "I hate studying. I'm going to have to take over the clinic after my dad retires and I need to make sure I ace every test. No one wants to go to a doctor who flunked test after test. Besides, it'd be nice to have a night off from hitting the books."

"So... why the GOAT grading guide, then?"

"I need to make sure I get the doctor career assignment," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "If I don't, my dad will kill me thrice fold."

Butch pushed himself off the wall and went behind the desk, "I'll cut ya a deal."

"You don't have anything I want," she snorted and began to work on the lock again.

"For one second will ya listen to me? Fuckin' hell, Doll face, you need a little faith."

He realized his mistake as soon as the nickname left his mouth.

Dolly paused her ministrations for a fraction before continuing, not looking up. "Why did you call me that?"

Butch felt defensive. He didn't know how to answer her and in situations like this, he usually punched or cursed his way out of it. "I dunno, it just... seemed, uh, right I guess?"

"It's better than Nosebleed," she giggled, prying the lock open with a small congratulatory gasp.

"Hey, ya got it open!" Butch knelt down beside her to peer into the drawer.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her plump lips grew into a smile and she looked back at him with sheer elation. Her jade irises twinkled in delight and she began to shuffle through the drawer. To Butch's complete horror, he began to feel nervous. His stomach twisted and did a flip and he swallowed the lump of anxiety currently lodged in his esophagus. Dolly said something, but he couldn't hear her over the clamorous thumping of his heart against his sternum. Oh, this was bad. What was wrong with him? Was he sick? All he could think about was how delicious the skin of her neck looked and how he wanted to just push her up against the wall and... nope. That was not a place for his mind to go at the moment.

"Butch, hello?" Dolly was waving papers in his face. "Earth to Butch, do you read me?"

He swatted the papers away with a growl, "Quit it. What did ya find?"

She smiled with feigned meekness and held the papers out of reach, "And why should I tell you?"

"Because if not," he moved forward to grab the papers from her fist, "I'll beat ya up."

"How about..." she said slowly, keeping the papers away from him, "I'll agree to give you the answers for every single test for the rest of the year, _but_-"

"Aw, c'mon," he groaned.

"- but! You have to stop bullying me."

"No deal," he said quickly.

"That is a stupid decision on your part," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll give you one more chance to decide."

Butch felt so insulted. Like he'd give up bullying her just like that. But then again... he would get good grades on all of his tests. Damn, his ma would be so proud of him. Maybe she'd stop drinking if she had someone to be proud of.

Butch dropped his head in defeat, "Fine."

"Fine, what?"

"Fine I'll..." he looked up at her and glared, "I'll stop bullying ya."

She stuck her hand out and they shook on it. "There, was that so hard?"

"Yes, it was. Thanks," he said sardonically and reached to snatched the papers away from her.

Their hands touched for a moment as he took the papers from her hands and he felt something spark between them. His cerulean eyes met Dolly's dazzling jade and for a moment he couldn't breathe. This was fucking stupid. It was just Dolly, the loser of Vault 101. She should not be making him feel like this. And yet... there he was, struggling for air as her dazzling viridian eyes bore into his soul. He bit onto his bottom lip as his eyes wandered to her mouth. The urge to kiss her was astounding. Okay, he must be getting sick because that was not an okay thought to have. But he noticed that Dolly's eyes weren't on his anymore. She was staring at his mouth as well. Did she feel that same urge? Butch swallowed hard and began to lean in apprehensively. Dolly didn't move for a moment after he leaned in, but after a few seconds he found that she was beginning to close the gap between them. Their faces were so close he could feel her breath fanning his face. Her lips parted and his eyes slid closed.

A shout echoed from the hall and they stopped, their eyes shooting open. Dolly gawked at Butch and bolted upright, folding the tests and shoving them into her bra. Butch caught on and tucked the others into his coat. She slid the drawer closed as quietly as she could and they crept towards the door. Another shout. Dolly flinched and glanced at Butch as people began to yell.

"That's the Overseer," she whispered. "He's yelling at someone."

Butch's mouth dropped open and he stifled a laugh, pressing his hand to his mouth. "Oh! Oh! This is fuckin' great!"

She looked horrified, "Why? Have you lost it?"

He pulled Dolly into the hallway, "Earlier, I saw Amata and Freddie getting pretty friendly," he wiggled his eyebrow suggestively, "If ya know what I mean."

At this, Dolly smiled daftly and giggled, "I bet the Overseer caught them!"

"I sent them to the cafeteria," he shrugged, "the supply closet has ample space and privacy for activities."

"I don't want to know how you know that," her laughter ceased and she furrowed her eyebrows. "But we should get out of here. It'll look... suspicious."

"Suspicious that we're in the same room and I'm not wailing on ya?"

Again she smiled, and he found himself breathless. "Something like that."

They stood there for a moment just smiling at each other stupidly. A million thoughts buzzed around his brain and he wanted to ask her what had just happened. Did she even want to kiss him? If they hadn't been interrupted by the yelling, would've they have gone through with it? How did she feel about him? He licked his lips and his eyes wandered to her mouth again. A part of him was yelling to just kiss her and get it out of his system, but the other half of him feared being kicked in the balls. His body went rigid as Dolly hoisted herself up on her tiptoes. His heart screamed wildly in his ears and his skin suddenly became very hot and tingly. Without hesitation, Dolly chastely kissed Butch's cheek. The spot where her skin touched his burned and ached and he fought the desire to pull her into him. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to bury his face in that beautiful red hair. He wanted to... he wanted to...

A deep, stern voice broke the silence. Dolly's pipboy lit up as someone sent her a video message, "Dolly Marie Murdoch, it is way past curfew. Time to come home."

"I'm sorry daddy," she muttered with a smile and hit send, looking back up to Butch. "That's my cue."

"Don't tell anyone I was nice to ya," he muttered as he tapped her forehead with his finger. "I have a reputation, ya know."

"I won't tell a soul," she pretended to zip up her lips and lock them, then throw away the key. She was so goddamn awkward, but he was beginning to like it. "As long as you keep to your promise, that is."

"Everyone is gonna wonder why I don't pick on you anymore," he smoothed back a lock of his hair nonchalantly.

"Let them talk," she shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

With a small flip of her hair she spun on her heels and clicked her way down the hall. He watched as her silhouette faded into nothing. The lighting began to darken to a deep red and then flicker in warning. A loud horn began to blare over the intercom and Butch suddenly found himself back in his mother's room. Dead radroaches laid scattered about the floor surrounded in dried blood. His mother was knocking back a bottle of vodka and fell backwards onto the bed. He let out a sigh and shook his head, wondering if maybe he had accidentally ingested something and had just had a very intense trip. He looked up through the window his mother's room. The staircase that Dolly had escaped from was in view, and he silently hoped to see her small red head poking out from behind the wall and yell "just kidding!"

But it never happened.

* * *

Butch let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and closed his eyes tightly, rubbing them with balled up fists. To his confusion, the alarms stopped blaring. A soft ringing echoed in his ears and he opened his eyes, glaring through the static that came with vigorous rubbing. He was in the hallway outside the Barber Shop. His icy blue eyes darted to the darkened room, its windows cracked and shattered, with various hair equipment scattered across the floors. Every now and then he'd dart in and grab some pomade for his hair, but since that night everything went to hell, he tried to stay away from this side of the vault. His eyes wandered to his pipboy. The date flashed in the right hand corner. It read "March 23rd, 2278." That didn't seem right. His eyebrows furrowed. Why didn't that seem right? He shook his head and looked up, the urge to move forward pushing him to continue.

Butch kicked his feet in frustration as he wandered down the hall and away from the broken down barber shop. The fighting had died down and he spent a majority of his time guarding the entrance to the sanctuary they were holed up in. It was hard trying to sleep there at first, since he was so used to his comfortable mattress and fluffy pillows. During his down time, when sleep refused to find him, he'd aimlessly wander the vault. Sometimes he'd run into security and they'd chase him back to the clinic, other times he'd go hours before encountering anyone. They had lost a lot of people since the night Dolly left. If they thought their numbers were small before, they obviously didn't realize it could get much worse. The time on his pipboy read that it was six in the morning.

He ran his hand over his tired face and grumbled. His mom was probably wondering how he was. It had been hard to see her since his living quarters were so close to security and that damn Overseer. Maybe if he made his way there now, he could sneak in before anyone was up to scare him off. The lights of the hallways flickered as he walked beneath them, items tipped over and random items dumped all over the floor. He stepped over the remnants of a radroach and turned the corner to his mom's living quarters. Instantly something felt off. He never believed in superstition or anything remotely close to that, but for some reason he felt his stomach drop into his knees and he just _knew_ something wasn't right.

The air was awfully still and had a chill to it and it nipped at his senses as he pushed his feet forward. Delicate hairs on the back of his neck rose as he approached the door to his old home. The light above the door was off and he took it as another bad omen. He stepped beneath it, silently crushing the immature sense of dread that had its cold fingers wrapped around his throat. He pressed the button to the door and it slid open with a "swoosh." A smell hit his nostrils and he took a step backwards. He coughed and covered his mouth with his sleeve before entering. The lights in the house were all on, the radio sitting idly upon the kitchen table hissing as static filled the room. A cooking pot was perched upon the stove, a wooden spoon still precariously balanced on the handle.

"Hey Ma?" He called out, "Ma, you home?"

No response. He rounded the hallway and headed towards her bedroom, a sudden urgency shocking him to life. The door to her room was open ajar, the darkness behind it beckoning him. The smell from earlier became stronger and he tried not to gag. It was a stale smell, rancid even. He pushed the door open apprehensively and flipped the light switch on. What he saw before him made him freeze. His mother was draped awkwardly across the bed. Her nightgown was tinged yellow and her hair fanned around her face like a halo. Her once dazzling eyes were now dull, half-lidded and glazed over. Her mouth was open slightly and dried, frothy vomit clung to her chin. What disturbed him the most wasn't his mother's barren, empty stare, but the pallor to her skin. It was ashen and gray. The area where her body met the bed was lined with deep black bruises.

He swallowed. No, this wasn't real. This didn't happen. He inched towards her bed. A bottle of vodka was a few inches away from her hand, and he noticed a little orange bottle was gripped loosely in her elegant fingers. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw a tantrum and shake her until she came back to life. He wanted to yell at her that this wasn't fair, she had no right to leave him like this. He fell backwards, his back meeting the wall. With one weak drop, he slid to the floor, his eyes never leaving his mother's lifeless form on the bed. She left him just like that.

Briefly, he wondered what she was going through that was so horrible, that the only way out was to swallow an entire bottle of medication and chug alcohol. Why didn't she talk to him? They never were awfully close but the loved each other. She did the best she could. It was odd to see her lying there and come to terms that, that wasn't his mother anymore. It looked like her, but she wasn't in there. She was gone.

Something clenched in his chest and he felt a lump rise in his throat. His eyes stung and his hands began to tremble. His chest rumbled and a strangled cry escaped his throat. Quickly, he slapped a hand over his mouth and clenched his eyes shut. He couldn't stop it anymore, he lost control. Sobs shook his lean frame and he tried to blink away the tears. Although his hand was covering his mouth, the pitiful hum of his pain echoed through the room. It was eerily still. God, he felt so alone. He always felt alone but now he realized that he actually was alone. The only person in his life who remotely gave a damn was gone. He felt so weak crying into the stillness of the room. He hadn't felt such hopelessness since he was a small child. The overwhelming sense of loss struck him and he tilted his head backwards, banging his head against the wall. 

"Oh, god damn it," he choked out, his eyes boring holes into the ceiling. 

His mother wasn't a saint. She was more in tune with her alcohol than she was with parenting, but she was his flesh and blood. If she didn't care about him, she wouldn't have pushed him to be a good man. To be a better man than his father was. She always saw the potential in him and wanted him to strive to be the best he could be... he was sad that he couldn't have been a better son. It was always one disappointment after another. As soon as he hit puberty he couldn't control the rage. He couldn't care less about grades, he just wanted to do as he pleased. The look on his mother's face the day he came home after he failed his umpteenth test in a row was one of shame and defeat. She had given up. If only she knew how much he appreciated what she did for him. The way she'd call him "Butchie" and pull on his ear when he was bad, or the way she'd smack the back of his head when he got too mouthy. She always tried to instill good manners into him and they stuck somewhat. She tried her best. 

And now here he was, sitting on the floor of her bedroom sniffling and crying like a pussy. Why didn't he come to see her more often? Why didn't he show her his appreciation? Pain throbbed in his chest and he choked out another sob. Oh, god, he never told her he loved her- and he did! He loved her like no one else, she was his Ma for Christ's sake! She was the light of his life, even if she was drunk off her ass most days. What if he had been nicer to her? What if he had tried hard to be a good kid? What if he had just visited her more often instead of getting swept up in the rebels and plotting to abandon her? This was his fault. If he had been more attentive...

Another sob threatened to break through but he pushed it away, instead he let out an angry scream and banged his head against the wall one more time. No one could know she died like this. With no doctor to examine her, he knew that if he could just hide that pill bottle no one would know she did this intentionally. Everyone knew her fondness for alcohol and it seemed much more likely that she would die in her sleep from alcohol poisoning. Not suicide. That word seemed so foreign to him. He stood up shakily and moved to the bed. His hand found the pill bottle and he took it from her, pocketing it to dispose of later. He looked into her eyes. What was she thinking in those final moments? Did she regret it? Was she thinking of the son she was leaving behind? Did she believe he wouldn't care? Nausea wracked his body and he doubled over, crumbling to his knees and vomited into the tacky shag carpet. 

Butch wiped his mouth and shakily climbed to his feet. He had to get out of here. He idly patted his pocket where the pills were and shuffled towards the living room. It didn't take long to get out of the apartment and he felt like he could finally breathe. He inhaled deeply and trembled. His mind was in a haze and his legs felt heavy, like he was walking through water. Breathing began to grow harder and his chest ached. A hand wandered to his heart and he gripped the fabric of his vault jumpsuit in vain. It felt like he was having a heart attack. As his body slowly lost oxygen he found his vision growing fuzzy. The last thing he remembered was someone calling his name as his body hit the ground.

* * *

Anxiety rose in Butch's throat and he paced in circles. Music lofted lazily across the air, filling the room with the distant, hollow sound of Billie Holiday and her bluesy voice. The music was making him even more nervous and he angrily unplugged it from the wall, tossing the small stereo onto his bed. The clothes next the stereo stirred languidly and he glanced at the outfit with distaste. This was a bad idea, this was not going to work. Out of all the lousy ideas his dumb brain had come up with, this was most certainly the worst one. It was not going to work. He rubbed his hands together nervously and moved to his dresser, rifling through his multitude of vault suits and various other shirts.

He wasn't sure what it was like out there- outside the vault. All his life he heard from the Overseer that it was a barren wasteland filled with mutated monsters straight out of some Twilight Zone episode. But that was long ago when the Overseer was trying to keep them isolated. His lies hadn't worked. Allen Mack's lies hadn't worked. Dolly came back and she was living breathing proof that there's more out there than anyone down here knew about. The first night back, Dolly and him spent the majority of their time talking. He had intended into buttering her up so that she'd be more inclined to help him, but failed miserably. Instead, he ended up actually enjoying their night catching up. She was still that dorky redhead from their teenage days, but she had changed.

Butch didn't like to admit it, but... he was kind of scared. All he wanted since that fateful night all those years ago was to leave the vault. He knew it was possible and he was itching to experience the wasteland. Now as he sat here pacing the room, trying to find an outfit befitting for a first day in the real world. No more synthetic sunlight, no more Overseer, no more being a dumb barber. He was his own man. He puffed his chest out at the thought.

Amata was having a meeting about opening the vault and he was intent on attending. This was the first time he gave a rat's ass about anything happening within the vault community, and this only mattered because it effected him directly. He paced the room gathering a few more things. All he had was a small duffel bag and was trying to cram as much in there as possible. He tossed in a few combs, some tubs of pomade, and a bunch of white shirts and pants. After this, he wasn't quite sure if he was going to need his vault uniform anymore. Something caught the corner of his eye. He turned to his dresser and saw a small necklace glistening in the fluorescent lighting. He eyed the small jewel wearily.

It had been a while since his mom died. The room where she was found had been sealed due to contamination worries, at least until they could get a team in there to disinfect and clean. Before they closed it off, though, he had managed to lift a few of her belongings. The most important one was the small scarlet pendant she wore around her neck. Mom always said that she got it from his dad, whoever that was. It was so important to her that he rarely saw her without it. It was a gem passed down from their descendants hundreds of years ago, and the necklace still shone like it was new- aside from a few rust stains along the tiny chain links and some scuffing on the gem.

He ran his thumb over it and let out a breath, pocketing the necklace. Maybe someday he'd find a dame worthy enough of his mom's necklace. An image of a certain redheaded poindexter flashed across his mind and he frowned. That was weird. Since when did he see her as anything other than, well, her? He shook his head and forced an image of some busty blonde wearing nothing but his Tunnel Snakes jacket and the necklace and smirked. Yeah, that seemed more fitting. With one final look at his room, his home for the past twenty-two years, he turned off the lights and went to join the rest of the vault for the meeting.

The room was sparse and empty and it took him a moment to realize that no one was missing. Their numbers had dwindled so horrendously, all that was left was a handful. It was a good thing they were going to introduce more people. Butch tossed his duffel bag to the floor and took a seat at his old desk. It was odd that Amata chose the classroom. He looked to the door and saw Freddie enter. As soon as he noticed Butch was there, Freddie gave a small smile and a wave and took the seat in front of him. That's where Dolly used to sit. He had a vague memory of kicking her and flicking the back of her head. Nostalgia crept over him and he shifted uncomfortably. Finally, after the rest of the surviving vault dwellers found a seat, Amata went to the front of the room. She had re-situated Mr. Brotch's desk so that it was more centered.

Her face was grave, her lips pursed into a thin line. "I'm sure you all know why I called you here."

There was a murmur amongst the group and he heard Christine speak up, "Are we here to talk about you-know-who killing another Overseer? I feel like that warrants some discussion."

Amata bowed her head and grimaced, "No, Dolly did us a service. She didn't have to answer my emergency transmission, but she ran to our aid without a second thought. She did her best. "

"That dumb bitch took the easy way out," Wally piped up from the back of the room, "she didn't have to kill my dad but she did, so let's stop treating her like some goddamn hero already, okay? She's a fucking cunt."

"Hey, watch your mouth," Butch snapped, turning to address the angry Mack boy. "Your dad was fuckin' crazy, man. She tried to talk to him and he drew a gun on her, does that sound like a rational person to you?"

"Oh, since when did you start sticking up for that bitch?" Wally snorted, "She comes back one night and somehow convinces you with her big green doe eyes that she's innocent and you trip all over yourself like some fink."

Butch rose to his feet, his fists balled and poised at the ready, "What did you say to me, you fuckin' asshole? Come here, say that to my face!"

"Butch, calm down," Suzy whispered, giving him a stern look.

"I AM calm!" he shouted at Suzy and she flinched. "It's your inbred brother who ain't calm!"

"The fuck did you say?" Wally pushed himself off the wall and started to walk over. "Don't get all pissy with me because your girlfriend doesn't know how to control herself. If it wasn't for her, Amata and I would still have parents, you fucking prick."

Butch glowered at the usage of "girlfriend" to describe Dolly. He felt rage begin to boil in his stomach and stepped out into the aisle, preparing himself for a scuffle. Things had been rough between them since Allen Mack took the position of Overseer. Wally took his place next to his dad and joined security, smiting down anyone who didn't agree with his old man's crackpot theories.

Officer Gomez grabbed Wally by the collar and yanked him back, "Now is not the time for this. Maybe you two should sit down and shut your mouths so Amata can talk."

Butch planted himself in his seat with a huff, his hands still clenched into fists. Where did Wally get off talking like that? He felt a twinge of defensiveness run through him and it was confusing. He didn't know why Wally saying that shit bothered him so much but it did. Maybe back when they were younger he would be fine with that but now... things were different. Dolly saved them and all Amata and everyone else did was give her a kick to the ass and showed her the door. It wasn't right. If he had been in Dolly's position, he would've done the same thing. He knew everyone else felt the same way, well maybe not Wally. Regardless, Dolly deserved some damn respect and he was ticked off that no one was willing to openly side with her.

"Thank you, Officer Gomez," Amata nodded to the man and crossed her arms. "We are missing a few people tonight," her eyes wandered to Paul's empty chair, "people who died senselessly amidst the chaos. But I know a lot of you agree with me. You stood by me for almost two years and defended our right to leave the vault. I implore you to think carefully about this. We open the vault and we're opening ourselves up to risks. This won't be easy, but it will be worth it. I need to preface this by saying that our success in this endeavor lies solely on the shoulders of those wiling to cooperate."

She swallowed hard, her honey brown eyes wide and shiny from unshed tears.

"I wish that things would've been different and that this opportunity would've arisen with the entire vault in agreeance. Yet, here we are," she gestured to the room with open arms, "we've made it through all of the bloodshed- through all of our losses and struggles. We've survived. Let's ensure that our fellow vault residents didn't die in vain."

She licked her lips and opened her mouth as if to continue, but she didn't. The room was silent with only the sound of a few emotional sniffles here and there. Butch stared down at the speckled classroom desk with furrowed brows. She didn't have to say it, but the way her eyes wandered to Paul's old desk spoke volumes. It wasn't just random people who had been taken from them, it was their friends. Their family. His mother came to mind and he wilted, leaning back in the chair with a sigh.

"So... what do we do now?" Freddie whispered gently to no one in particular.

"I need a scouting party," Amata's eyes instantly went to the group of security officers. "I need people who can take of themselves and know how to hold a gun."

Butch's face lit up. His heart began to thump wildly in excitement, "I volunteer!"

Someone snorted behind him. It was Wally again. "What makes you think you can survive out there? You couldn't even save your own mom from a couple of bugs."

Butch was seething at the apparent slight. Everyone knew about that after his mom stumbled to the clinic looking for some pain medication for her radroach bites. She babbled on about the "cute redhead" who came in and saved her! Of course she didn't leave out how Butch was too afraid of the radroaches to do anything about it. He grit his teeth together stared straight ahead.

No one said anything for a while until Amata spoke up again. "Gomez, Hannon, and Richards. I need you three to get some supplies and travel to the nearest town."

Butch craned his neck to check out the three security guards mentioned. He liked Gomez, he was the one who helped Dolly get to the clinic without being harmed. Hannon was a piece of shit. He never liked Paul's dad. Hannon tried too hard to be by-the-book and more often than not caused more damage to the vault security team than anything. The man always liked to act smarter than he was. Richards was a decent guy, soft spoken and never really pushed any of the kids around.

"I must decline, Amata," Hannon said sternly, crossing his arms.

"Look, Mr. Hannon, I know we don't meet eye to eye on many things but you're the security chief. It'd seem wrong to not have you in the scouting party," Amata brushed a strand of chocolate colored hair from her face.

"Look, girly, I only take orders from the Overseer," his voice was harsh and cold.

"Well, the last time I checked the Overseer was dead. Everyone agreed I'd be the one to step up and take his place, like I should have when my father died."

"You mean when he was killed," Hannon corrected. "I don't know if I want you to be Overseer, seeing as your judgment is pretty poor. Anyone willing to let that psycho Dolly back into the vault to slaughter yet another Overseer has to be lacking in common sense."

"I wasn't given very many options, seeing as the security team became our enemy the day Dolly left," Amata shrugged. "I told her to talk him down from his pedestal but he wouldn't listen."

"He was just another senseless murder," Hannon barked, his face growing red. "The day she left, we lost so many people- including my son and my wife! Wally over here lost his brother and his dad by that girl's hands. You lost your dad because of her. You're off your rocker, and I swear if I ever see that girl again I'm going to put her on a pike!"

"Enough," Amata commanded, pushing herself from the wall. She was a small woman but she could be intimidating when she wanted to be. "I understand your pain. I was mad at her for a long time but I know what my father did wasn't right either. If he hadn't sent his goons after her with orders to kill on sight, maybe she wouldn't have felt the need to do what she did."

"And what of my brother, huh?" Wally seethed, joining in. "All he wanted was to serve his vault and his Overseer and he got two to the face."

"Everyone knows your brother was just as crazy as your old man," this time Butch chimed in, raising himself to sit on the desk with his boots on the chair. "Must be all that inbreeding makin' you all crazy, huh?"

Wally didn't hesitate this time. He lunged from across the room and grabbed Butch by the collar, lifting him so that their faces were only inches apart. Butch felt fear paralyze his limbs for a moment as the shit eating grin faded from his face. A part of him was sad to see this is where their relationship had gone. He had already lost Paul and he lost Wally the day his brother died. Wally stared back into Butch's face with intense fury, his eyes burning holes into Butch's olive skin. Butch tried to pull away but found that the grip his childhood friend had on his collar was vice.

As he raised his boot to kick Wally's knee, Wally brought down a fist square into Butch's jaw. Instantly, he saw stars. An explosion of pain shot up through his chin and he let out a angry moan, ignoring the blood that dribbled from his split lip. Butch fumbled around his jacket pocket and withdrew his pocket knife and took a slice at Wally's face. The man let go, shocked, and tripped backwards. Butch had gotten him right below the eye. He would prove to all these assholes that the Butch-man ain't a coward.

Wally touched the gash on his cheek and pulled away, staring at the blood with bemusement. His eyes snapped back to Butch's face and he took a step forward, ready to lunge again. In a heartbeat, Officer O'Brian was holding one arm and Officer Gomez grabbed the other, pulling Wally to the opposite side of the room. Amidst the scuffle, Amata had closed the gap between her and Butch and was currently standing in front of him, defensively blocking him from Wally's view. Freddie had also joined the fight, standing next to Butch at the ready with one hand holding Butch in place.

"Do you see how you two are acting?" Amata shrieked, looking between the two men. "We are supposed to be together on this and you two are tearing each other apart. It's juvenile!"

Butch's lip was swollen and he couldn't shake the feeling that this had happened to him before. His brain itched at the memory and an overwhelming sense of deja vu came over him. Had he been in a fight recently? No, that wasn't it. He hadn't fought anyone down here since before Dolly left. A brief memory of a small cell and darkness flew across his vision and he gawked. That was odd. Maybe he was remembering a movie he had seen. Amata turned to Butch with a scowl scarier than any he had ever seen before. She could out-scowl his mother.

"Butch, I need you to keep yourself in check," she whispered, the scowl never leaving her face. "I know how intolerable those men can be, but can you really blame them for their anger?"

"Wally's just a bitch," he said with a slight lisp, patting his split lip in afterthought.

"Butch," Freddie said softly at his side, "stop."

"I know you two had resolved your issues before Dolly left and you see her like a friend, so I understand why you're so ticked off and defensive about this. I know Dolly helped you save your mom and she's done right by you," she exhaled a shaky breath, "but please for all that is good and decent in this world, can you please just cool it?"

"Why aren't you over there yellin' at that fuck face?" Butch kept his voice down but didn't attempt to hide his frustration. "He's the one who attacked me!"

"But you antagonized him," she said smoothly. "Trust me, I'm going to go over there and give that boy a piece of my mind too. But be the bigger person for once, Butch. We're not children anymore. Stop acting like one."

Amata turned on her heel and marched over to Wally, who was still being coaxed out of his rage by the two security officers. With one fell swoop she brought her hand down and slapped it across Wally's face. Wally went still and stared at the small woman through wide blue eyes and nodded along at what she was saying. Butch couldn't discern her words but he knew she was telling him off ten times worse than she had done to Butch. Freddie shifted uncomfortably next to him and Butch turned to address his friend.

"Are you leaving?" Freddie's voice was small and filled with concern. The kid was nice, way too nice to have ever joined the Tunnel Snakes. Try as he might to be a hard ass, he just didn't have it in him.

Butch wiped away at the blood on his chin and pointed to his duffel bag. "I've been planning to leave for years now."

"Where will you go?" Freddie's tan face was twisted in unease. "What will you do?"

"I dunno," Butch shrugged. "I haven't really planned that far ahead."

Freddie's eyes fell to floor as he seemed to deliberate over something for a few seconds. When he looked back up his mouth was drawn into a straight line, "I guess this means the Tunnel Snakes are through, huh?"

At this, Butch guffawed and slapped the younger man on the shoulders, "Freddie, the Tunnel Snakes rule! We don't quit. We're gonna take over the wastes, ya hear?"

His friend smiled daftly, "Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," he crossed his chest like they used to do when they were kids, "stick a stimpak in my eye."

He went to turn and join Amata but paused a fraction, turning to regard Butch once more. "When you see Dolly... tell her thanks, okay? For me."

"Why?" The word slipped out a bit more protective than he intended.

"She was always good to me," he smiled sadly. "The night she left, she stopped by to tell me to stay put so I could be safe, that my dad was helping her and I had nothing to worry about..." he trailed off.

If Butch didn't already know that Freddie was smitten with Amata, he'd have an inkling suspicion that Freddie was sweet on Dolly. The greaser gave Freddie a light slap on the back and a happy nod before the young man turned to join Amata across the room. The classroom was alight with babbling and arguing, it was the most lively he had seen this bunch in years. His offender was currently being hauled off by security. With a deep breath he contemplated just grabbing his bag and running out of there, but for some reason he knew he owed the lot of them a goodbye. Not that they'd miss him, but it was polite. His mom always tried to get him to be polite and considerate. Maybe it was time to turn over a new leaf.

Butch cleared his throat, "Alright everyone, shut your mouths. I got somethin' to say."

A sea of curious faces turned and stared at him. Butch brushed away the growing nervousness that crept up his spine. "I'm leavin'."

A quiet murmur spread across the group and Christine crossed her arms with a huff, "Butch, we all knew you'd try to break out of here the first chance you got."

"Get the fuck out of here," Amata began to laugh. "I didn't actually think you'd work up the courage to do it!"

Butch felt his face grow hot. Damn, was it so hard to get some faith around here? He shifted his pack uncomfortably, readjusting, and stared at the ground. He heard them grow quiet and Amata walked over. Her feet slid across the metal floor and came into Butch's line of sight, but he didn't want to look up. He didn't want everyone to see how red his face was. With a gentle, almost nurturing touch, Amata placed both hands on Butch's shoulders. Reluctantly, he tilted his head to meet her gaze. Her honey brown eyes were sad and her mouth was twisted into forlorn expression. Was she sad that he was leaving?

When she spoke her voice was soft and he knew what she was about to say was only for his ears, "Butch, when you get out there, just guard your ass, okay? I know we haven't always been close but... I know you're a good guy. Try to not let the wastes suck you in."

Butch couldn't fight the gentle grin that spread across his face, "Thanks, toots. It's been great."

"Oh, and, one more thing..." she leaned in close, "take care of Dolly when you find her. She's been through a lot and I know she'd love to have you with her, even if she won't admit it."

"I don't know what you're tryin' to say," he sniffed. "What makes you think I'm gonna stick with her?"

"Just a hunch," she laughed. "Help yourself to supplies. Make sure to stock up on stimpaks and a lot of clean water."

Frankly, he was touched. He didn't know Amata actually cared about him at all. He always said the good thing about her was that she was always willing to give people second chances. Those kind of situations either go one way or the other, but Amata always tried to be understanding. Maybe that's why she was being so nice to him. This may be the last time he ever sees these people. With a final look he glanced around the room, saying his goodbyes. After a few minutes of awkward side hugs and halfhearted farewells, he found his way to the clinic to stock up. It was weird seeing the place empty, as this had been his home for almost two years while they struggled. It seemed like just yesterday that he was walking home from lunch with Paul and the alarms sounded.

As he reached the front of the vault he felt his nerves begin to worsen. He could always come back, but they would never stop giving him shit for it. He wiped his sweaty palm against the cotton fabric of his vault suit and swallowed hard. The small control panel near the opening flashed and beeped, welcoming him. He typed in the new password, his finger hovering over the enter button for a fraction of a minute. After some mental deliberation and a desperately needed pep talk, he pressed it.

The hatch creaked and groaned as it disengaged and retracted. One foot went forward, and then another. The next thing he knew he was jogging towards the rickety wooden door at the end of the tunnel. His breath was coming in short bursts and he let out a joyous yelp as he finally reached it. The tunnel was cool and smelled of earth and musk, something he was not used to. The hatch closed behind him in one final groan and locked, sealing his fate. This was it, this was his moment.

With a shaky hand he pressed onto the door and watched as it popped open. The light was blinding and he covered his eyes with his hand. Shit, that burned. After a few moments of blinking away the tears and rubbing at his eyes he tried looking once again. He must have trouble adjusting or something because all he saw was a white void. Trepidation kept him from running full force into the wastes and instead he settled on putting his hand out into the light. It was warm and tickled his olive skin, something the fluorescent lighting in the vault did not. He exhaled a trembling breath and stepped into the light. He lost all sense of direction and rubbed his eyes furiously, still having trouble focusing on anything within close proximity.

Once he was done rubbing his eyes for the second time he opened them, only to see darkness. Oh god no, the sun fried his eyes! He was blind! Why didn't he just listen to that educational video about wearing goggles when they first leave? He let out a frightened yelp and stumbled forward. Finally, something began to appear as the tunnel of darkness began to ebb away. It was a room. It was small and poorly constructed, with awkward tin roofing and horrible flooring. In the corner he saw a bed. There was someone tucked beneath a mound of blankets and a person at their side. What the hell? He looked around to try and discern where he was or what was going on, only to hear someone whispering his name.

Slowly his gaze wandered back to the bed and he moved closer to it. What he saw baffled his mind and he had to fight the urge to scream and run away. In the bed was himself, a giant plastic tube shoved down his throat and a small monitor poised above the bed. Was that all just a dream? Was he dying? The person sitting next to the bed lifted their head. It was Dolly. Her face was reddened from tears and she dabbed at her face futilely. Her russet hair was tucked into a messy bun and her makeup was slightly smeared across her cheeks. She looked different, older- more dignified. Even with grime and smeared makeup he found her breathtaking. A sparkle near her collarbone drew he gaze and his jaw went slack for a moment. There, around her slim ivory neck, was his mother's necklace. He patted his pocket and found it was still there.

His head began to throb and he dropped his bag, gripping at either side of his face. Memories and images began to flash and invade his mind. His first night out of the vault when he stayed in Megaton and talked to that Irish bastard. The day he was close to Rivet City but was ambushed by raiders and tortured for twelve hours. The elation in his chest the moment he realized Dolly was the one who saved him. The night they fell asleep in each others arms in post coital bliss.

It all offended his senses at once and his knees buckled. He crumbled to the ground, mumbling to himself and gritting his teeth as shocks of pain rocked his body. This was his life. The vault he had just emerged from was just a conglomerate of his past experiences. The man lying in that bed was him and he couldn't help but feel that this was it. He groaned as the pain faded and he laid on the floor in exhaustion.

Darkness encircled him once more and this time he embraced it with open arms, ready for whatever awaited him.

* * *

**A/N: If you guys liked this well enough, I may consider doing a prequel story about Dolly and Butch in the vault :) I rather like their awkward teenager-ness. Sorry for the sad scene where Butch found his mom. I think that she'd realize the hopelessness of her situation and take her own way out, leaving Butch behind because she thought he was capable of moving on. But I also have this idea that Butch is a mama's boy deep down, even if he didn't want to show her. **

**Thanks for reading!**


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